Unto Certain Shepherds
by winter machine
Summary: A McFamily Christmas with all the trimmings, by request. MerDer, Zola, Bailey, Santa, and more! COMPLETE with epilogue, July 2018.
1. Five Days to Christmas

**A/N:** _ **This grew out of a prompt from MerDer2015, who requested a Christmas story for Meredith, Derek, Zola, and Bailey, "with all the trimmings," including a visit to Santa. Patsy seconded the motion. I wanted to do it, but it didn't fit with my Trailblazing timeline, since it's still spring in DC. So I planned a fluffy one-shot instead. And then it grew … and grew … and grew. So now it's a fluffy several-shot. (Don't worry, it's not going to be one of my monster 40-chapter deals). As you'll see from the chapter setup, we're leading up to Christmas. MerDer2015 and Patsy, you are both such awesome and consistent reviewers, and I hope you like your Christmas present!**_

* * *

 ** _Unto Certain Shepherds_  
Chapter 1: Five Days to Christmas**

...

 _From God our Heavenly Father_  
 _A blessed Angel came;_  
 _And unto certain Shepherds_  
 _Brought tidings of the same:_  
 _How that in Bethlehem was born_  
 _The Son of God by Name._  
 _O tidings of comfort and joy,_  
 _Comfort and joy_  
 _O tidings of comfort and joy..._

* * *

Meredith is standing inside the elevator when the doors open; he can't help smiling when he sees her. Her hair is coming down from its ponytail, she has an armful of charts. Ten years slip away, and he can see from her expression that she feels it too.

"Just so we're clear, Dr. Shepherd … I didn't plan this," she says, lifting an eyebrow.

"A likely story, Dr. Grey." He leans in for a kiss, which she obliges.

"It's true," she says innocently. "My son just happens to be in the daycare on the fourth floor."

"Your son." Derek cocks his head. "Last week, when he broke a dozen eggs in the two seconds it took me to get a yogurt out of the refrigerator … he was _my_ son."

"Mm." Her tone is noncommittal. "Well, he's been very good this week."

"According to whom?"

"His daycare teachers." Meredith looks like she's trying not to laugh. "I didn't ask Santa directly, but …"

At the word _Santa_ both of them look at each other.

"Don't jinx it," they mutter at the same time.

The thing is …

This isn't just almost-Christmas.

This is _their_ year.

Last year, Bailey had the croup. Late December was full of steamy humidifiers, endless pacing of the house, and tears. Zola held out heroically until Christmas Eve, when she spiked a fever of 101. Christmas Day was spent alternating cool baths and warm blankets and marathoning Christmas movies until Derek and Meredith could easily recite every one of Charlie Brown's lines.

The year before … Zola had the chicken pox, too uncomfortable to have much of an interest in Christmas beyond sucking on a candy cane while she sat in a lukewarm oatmeal bath.

And the year before that … well, Zola was healthy, but Meredith was pregnant. Pregnant, and floored with morning sickness, and horribly uncomfortable. She did her best, turning only faintly green when Zola requested hot chocolate, and if Derek is honest he still enjoyed every moment, but Zola was still too little to remember, or to understand what was going on. One of the daycare teachers told them later that, when asked how her Christmas was, Zola performed a spirited rendition of Meredith vomiting.

… so there's that.

This year, though? With Zola in kindergarten, counting down the days to Christmas with perfect math and breathless anticipation, and Bailey old enough to shout _Santa!_ whenever they pass a Salvation Army bell-ringer?

This is going to be _their_ year.

Their Christmas.

No jinxing … just Christmas.

Instead of sugarplum visions dancing before their eyes, Derek and Meredith have been spinning out more attainable – though no less cozy – fantasies.

It started with the L.L. Bean catalogue ( _they follow me_ , Derek laughed when it arrived), and the adorable children's Christmas pajamas.

Then it was the tree they cut down three weeks ago on a spruce-scented Sunday that felt more like a movie than actual life. (" _I love Christmas,_ " Zola sighed during their car ride home, pine needles sticky on her little jacket, and it was perfect.)

The sweet daycare staff arranged for pottery handprints for all the children, to be turned into ornaments, and Bailey's little palm and fingers in green-glazed clay took up residence on the tree.

Then there was the holiday concert at Zola's school. Zola wore an apple-red dress with embroidered candy canes across the smocking at her waist, and stood in the front row (" _She didn't get that singing voice from you_ ," Derek teased Meredith when their daughter practiced around the house). The other little children who normally seemed small and sticky and blurry with energy – like their own daughter – were transformed into adorable Christmas sprites too, which made Meredith cry and Derek have a coincidental allergy attack that irritated his own eyes. And then Bailey shrieked his sister's name with glee and the parents around them broke out into laughter.

December is always a busy time for doctors, but careful planning, scheduling – and, to be fair, a certain amount of bribery – meant one or both of them has been there to read a Christmas story or three each night. Meredith poured extra milk for both children, supervised Zola's chewable vitamins, and kept little feet snuggly warm in wool socks. _No one_ was going to get sick. Not this Christmas.

 _Christmas._

Last night, fresh from her bath, adorable in her flannel Christmas pajamas, Zola proudly crossed out the date in red crayon.

And now, with only five days before Christmas, it's all about –

"Scheduling," Meredith reminds him.

"On it." Derek nods. "I've talked to Klein and Rasul and they're both covering tonight and tomorrow."

Meredith nods.

"And you?"

Meredith pauses to adjust the collar of Bailey's little coat. "Well, I don't exactly have your seniority."

Derek glances at her. "What does that mean?"

"It means I had to resort to strategy."

"Strategy?"

"Well, bribery." Meredith shakes her head as his expression. "Okay, fine … _more_ bribery."

"The true Christmas spirit," Derek laughs. "But the point is, you scheduled."

"The point is … I scheduled," she agrees. "I'm free."

"Free," he repeats.

"Free!" Bailey yells happily as they load him into the jeep.

"Snowman," their son requests volubly as soon as Derek turns over the engine; Bailey quiets a few lines into _Frosty._

His phone buzzes two traffic lights from the hospital. Meredith glances at the screen without being asked. _Nancy Shepherd._

"It's Nancy," she says.

"Nancy – as in, my sister Nancy?"

"Assuming her last name is Shepherd … then yes, your sister Nancy." Meredith gestures to the car's speakers. She hasn't seen Derek's sister in practically a decade, but the first image of her in the trailer isn't one she's exactly forgotten. "Do you want me to hook it up?"

"Nah." Derek signals for a right turn. "Bailey wants to hear the snowman, so…"

"Right." Meredith waits until the phone has stopped buzzing to set it back in the handset. "Do you think everything is – "

"It's fine," Derek says. "When it's not fine, she texts."

True – Nancy is a doctor too.

"Remember, she texted about Kathleen's biopsy and when Mom had that evaluation." Derek's voice is quiet as if he's talking to himself.

Meredith nods; she recalls those texts, and the followup texts assuring him everything turned out fine.

"Maybe she's calling to wish you a merry Christmas," Meredith suggests.

Derek shakes his head. "My sisters don't call to wish me a merry Christmas."

If it's not a Christmas wish and not bad news – Meredith considers this silently.

"She's probably calling to make me feel guilty about something," Derek sighs, as if he heard her unspoken question. "And I don't want to feel guilty tonight. Not after all that scheduling. I want to feel _festive_ tonight."

"Christmassy," Meredith suggests.

"Exactly. Christmassy." Derek taps the steering wheel for emphasis. "I'll just – call her back later."

…

He intends to call her back later, but picking an excited Zola up from her last day of school before Christmas break – after all that rescheduling to the point of bribery – is distracting, to say the least.

Their daughter emerges from the double doors in her bright pink puffy jacket with folders of work and an ornament she made herself, beaming. Bailey can't contain himself at the sight, and wriggles so enthusiastically when he sees Zola that his little green coat is left in Meredith's arms and he bolts in just his sweater to his sister.

"You both came!" Zola grins broadly, then looks at her little brother, who is currently being wedged semi-consensually back into his winter coat. "I mean, you three."

"We wouldn't miss it." Derek lifts her up for a kiss. "Are you going to give us a tour?"

Beaming, she takes each parent by the hand, Meredith holding Bailey on her hip, and leads them inside.

"Welcome to the Holiday Art Display!" an enthusiastic young teacher greets them. Meredith is reminded of why they liked the school so much on their first visit; there's a certain … _energy_ there that was irresistible. As a child who used school as an escape, Meredith was particularly sensitive to choosing the right environment. Zola proved their hypothesis correct when she woke each day eager to get to kindergarten.

Now Zola is eager to show off her work and her friends' work, occasionally leaving their sides to giggle with a classmate. The halls are hung with holly, the scent of spruce heavenly in the air – along with all those comforting elementary school smells: heavy construction paper, waxy crayons, tempera paints and glue.

"I made him!" Zola points.

"That is a _very_ realistic reindeer," Derek praises her, admiring the paper-mache construction, featuring a large red pom-pom for a nose. Meredith snaps a picture of Zola next to the animal.

"It's Rudolph," Zola informs them proudly, as Meredith grabs for Bailey's little hand right before it can make contact with the temptingly fuzzy nose.

Then there's fizzy pink punch, Christmas cookies, hot chocolate, and both children are dusted with powdered sugar, Zola's school shoes slapping the wooden floors as she runs around with her friends in the high-ceilinged multipurpose room. Bailey chases them hopefully, and both Meredith and Derek smile when Zola makes an effort to include him.

"She's a good big sister, isn't she?" Meredith smiles up at Derek; he snags a sip of her hot chocolate.

"She is," he agrees.

"Speaking of sisters, Meredith prompts gently, but then they're piling into the car and Zola is requesting _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_. She's trying to coach Bailey to learn the harmony, which is funnier every time, so Meredith can't exactly blame Derek for being distracted.

"Five days 'til Christmas," Zola sighs happily. "Just five! Tomorrow we bake cookies, right?"

It's tradition, one they've built with their little family.

Meredith glances into the back seat, thinking about the roll of red-and-green printed cookie dough in the fridge. Tradition comes in many forms.

"Right," she says quickly.

Zola purses her lips. "From a _recipe_ , Mommy."

Derek is considerate enough to muffle his chuckles; she throws him a dirty look, then turns around again to smile at their daughter.

"Sure, Zozo. If that's how you want to do it … Daddy knows a _lot_ of good recipes – " and then she has to cover her mouth to conceal a yelp when Derek frees a hand from the wheel.

…

They're cleaning up the remains of Thai takeout – Zola's request, which they were only too happy to oblige after her victorious art show – when Meredith sees Derek's hand hover near the phone.

"You want to call Nancy? I can finish up in here." Carefully, Meredith dislodges a sticky half-melted candy cane from the surface of the island.

Derek shakes his head, making noises about bedtime.

"I can get them ready. You'll be off in time to read to them."

He demurs and Meredith doesn't push it.

Zola, who reminds them it's her _last day of school_ before Christmas break, a holiday in and of itself, chooses two books, and so does Bailey.

Tradition dictates that the four of them pile on Meredith and Derek's big bed to read, traveling from the snowy scapes of _Randy and the Reindeer_ to the star-studded _Christmas in Space_ to the realistic-looking spruce-filled woods of _The Bravest Christmas Tree._

It's Derek's turn to read when he feels a gentle touch on his arm – Meredith, gesturing toward the toddler in his lap (fast asleep, snoring lightly) and the little girl snuggled between them (just about to join him, long lashes fluttering on her cheeks).

He just watches them for a moment – they're so cute in their red and green flannel pajamas, the scent of peppermint toothpaste completing the sensory experience. He doesn't take things for granted – doctors can't do that, surgeons certainly can't do that – but he can't help thinking that this moment … is pretty perfect.

 _This is our year. Our Christmas._

They carry the children to bed, Zola waking just enough to give them good night kisses and remind them to tell Santa Claus how good she was.

Derek closes the door gently behind them after Meredith illuminates the star-shaped nightlight. "I'm flattered that she thinks I have a direct line to Santa Claus," he admits.

"Don't you?"

Derek smiles. "Does this mean you're caving on taking them to see Santa?"

"I'm not _caving_ ," she says as he flops onto the couch and she joins him, resting her cheek against the softness of his sweater. "I was never opposed to it, not really. It's just … we haven't done it before."

"We didn't want to give Santa chicken pox," Derek agrees.

"Or croup," Meredith adds.

"Right. And now …"

"Well, now it's just a little weird," Meredith admits. "I mean … we tell our daughter that if she sits on a strange old man's lap in front of a bunch of people dressed as elves, he'll buy her presents?"

Derek frowns. "When you put it like that…"

"Sorry." Meredith rests a hand on his chest. "I guess it's different, you know, if you believe."

"And she believes."

"And she believes." Meredith pauses, thinking of Zola's excited little face. "I love it that she believes," she adds softly.

"Really?"

"Really."

She doesn't have to finish the thought. _Believing makes you lucky._

"Derek…"

"Yeah?"

"The kids are asleep … we're not at work …. " Meredith sits up.

Derek looks interested.

"Call your sister, Derek."

Now he looks disappointed, and she has to hide a smile.

"Why?" he protests, and for a moment she gets a clear vision of a little boy with a mop of messy dark hair complaining at being denied a cookie.

"Because I can tell it's bothering you," she says simply.

"Fine." He makes a face. "But I'm going to need some kind of reward."

"We don't bribe," she reminds him. "I mean, except for shifts at the hospital. Then we bribe."

He looks so sad it almost makes her laugh. "Okay, you win," she concedes. "Call your sister, get it over with … and I'll make it worth your while."

Derek's eyebrows rise hopefully. " _How_ worth my while?" he asks.

"Don't push it." Meredith stands up with a grin, heading for the kitchen. "Just make that call, and I'll … slip into something more comfortable."

…

"Okay, I realize this isn't exactly the _more comfortable_ you expected me to slip into," Meredith admits, glancing down at her oversized Harvard sweatshirt. "But if you just give me – Derek?"

He looks up. "Hm?"

Meredith's brows knit, concerned by his distraction. "What did your sister say?"

"She, uh, she said that my mother sold the house."

Meredith's eyes widen.

"I had no idea."

She rests a hand on his.

"And the movers are coming on the 28th." He shakes his head. "The 28th," he repeats.

"That's … soon," Meredith says tentatively.

"Yeah." Derek glances at the phone in his other hand. "I didn't even know she was planning to sell it. I mean, she's talked about it over the years – but not this seriously."

Meredith nods sympathetically.

"So it's her last Christmas there." Derek shakes his head ruefully. "I spent every Christmas of my life in that house before I moved out here. My mother was actually pregnant with me when they bought the place. And rumor has it that if my father hadn't talked her out of going to the hospital for _just a little twinge_ , I would have been born in that house too."

Meredith can't help smiling at that.

"Even when we moved out, you know, went to college and got married, and when my sisters had their kids, everyone still came home for Christmas. My mother loved hosting. Even after we were gone, she'd get a twelve-foot tree and my brother-in-law would…" Derek's voice trails off.

He looks almost embarrassed; Meredith gives him an encouraging nod.

"It's too much room for her alone, it has been for years," he admits. "But selling it, right after Christmas…"

He pauses.

"I guess I always thought you'd see the house," he says quietly. "That the kids would too, that we'd go back, you know, it's just that things have been … anyway. Maybe the new owners will let us stop by sometime, if we're on the east coast." He pauses again, looking worried. "Unless they're planning to tear it down. It's not in the best shape."

"Derek…"

"My mother meant to get the porch refinished, and the shutters have seen better days."

"Derek."

"And that was years ago. I haven't seen the house in … ten years," Derek says slowly. "Ten years."

" _Derek._ "

"Anyway, that was all a long time ago – Mer," his face creases with confusion when he finally sees her, "what are you doing?"

She looks up from her laptop.

"Checking flights to Connecticut."

"Checking flights to – what?" He sinks down beside her. "Really?"

She nods.

He looks hopeful, then worried.

"But it's Christmas …

"It's still Christmas in Connecticut."

"Tradition…"

"Our tradition is to be together. We're going to be together."

He smiles faintly. "This was supposed to be our year."

"It's our year," Meredith assures him. "It can be our year in Connecticut."

The look on his face confirms her decision. Her hand finds Derek and both squeeze at the same time.

"You … are something else," he says quietly.

"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment."

"It was definitely a compliment." He pauses. "But if you're looking for constructive criticism…"

She laughs in spite of herself. "Don't," she warns him.

"You could _actually_ slip into something more comfortable…"

"Derek!" She reaches out to swat him but he captures her hand and uses it to pull her forward into his arms. It's nice enough, especially after he starts kissing her, that she can't actually remember why she wanted to swat him in the first place.

… _damn_ , he's good.

(It's their Christmas, after all.)

* * *

 _To be continued, if you want. When they wake up, it will only be four days until Christmas! Chapters two and three are both in the works, so please review and let me know what you think - and whether you want me to keep going! (And if you like the story, thank MerDer2015 and Patsy for inspiring it.)_

Title, of course, from _God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen_ (English traditional Christmas carol). I've always wanted to write a Shepherd-pun Christmas story!


	2. Four Days to Christmas

_**A/N: Thank you so much for the great feedback on this story!** I am really enjoying writing it, and I can assure you it's not a one-shot. Not when there are still four days left until Christmas! I hope you enjoy chapter 2._

* * *

 ** _Unto Certain Shepherds_  
Chapter 2: Four Days to Christmas**

...

* * *

It's as easy as purchasing last-minute cross-country Christmas flights.

Easy.

Reasonable.

Fairly priced.

There were hardly any seats left at all, and getting the last four (yes, four, even his small son apparently requires his own seat, airline policy) direct flights meant that …

"The kids don't really _need_ to go to college, right?" Derek asks as he pours Meredith a cup of coffee the next morning.

"Definitely not." Meredith snags a fork away from Bailey's questing hand just in time. "Zola already knows everything … and she can teach Bailey."

"Good plan."

"Thank you." She offers him a purposefully modest smile.

"Airplane," Bailey says contentedly, dropping the L sound.

 _Air pain._

Perhaps they should have listened more closely to their son…

…

"Mommy," Zola says reverently, her dark eyes serious, as she stirs cereal around in her red ceramic bowl, "Daddy said that when he was little, it would _snow_ on Christmas. Like practically _every_ Christmas. Not a little snow, like here," she clarifies. "Real snow that goes up to your knees! And he could build a real snowman." Zola sighs with longing. "Just like the _Nutcracker._ "

Meredith is duly impressed that her daughter's frame of references has risen beyond _Frosty the Snowman._ Zola has been all snow, all the time, since she learned they'd be flying to Connecticut.

She turns to Derek, who is approaching with a mug of hot chocolate for Zola. "Blow," he reminds her, like always, even though he's added cool milk.

"Daddy," Zola asks, pausing to blow distractedly on her drink, "it's true it snows a lot in Connecticut, right? Like enough for a real snowman?"

"Usually." Derek smiles at her. "Let's just hope the snow holds off until our flight."

Zola turns to Bailey, who's been attempting to eat cereal and bananas with one hand while banging a board book on his high chair with the other. It's loud and messy but admittedly rather cute. "Bailey," she says with excitement, "we're going to build a _real_ snowman in Connecticut!"

"Not so disappointed, huh?" Meredith murmurs to Derek.

There's no time to gloat; they need to pack, and before that they need to …

Meredith makes a face just thinking about it …

 _Shop._

Four days before Christmas.

…

They're not generally frenzied shoppers.

They're not generally shoppers at all, truth be told, but they make it work, finding a little purple roll-on suitcase that Zola adores and bulking up on extra-warm winter items.

"We're flying at night," Zola reminds them, "and we're gonna sleep on the plane."

"God, I hope so," Derek murmurs. To Zola he says: "Yes, we're all going to sleep on the plane. And when we wake up, we'll be in Connecticut."

She beams.

Meredith picks up a pair of toddler reins. "Do people really use these?"

A woman passing them by glances at Zola, who's angelically holding Derek's hand now as she points out rock-climbing supplies, and Bailey, who's sleeping in his stroller.

"Don't knock it until you have your third," the woman says, lifting an eyebrow.

Of course, Bailey wakes up a few minutes later and starts rattling the straps of his stroller like a condemned prisoner, shrieking loudly enough that Meredith hustles him outside and watches through the window as Derek appears to just throw things willy nilly on the counter and purchase them.

"Daddy's gonna teach me to rock climb," Zola says happily as they all meet up outside the store.

"They had a sale on – what?" Derek holds up a hand innocently. "It's good exercise."

Meredith can't help thinking, as Bailey writhes furiously in her arms, that they don't exactly need to make their children _stronger._

…

"Why is Connecticut spelled so weird?" Zola asks, as she colors thoughtfully in one of her sketchbooks.

"I don't know, Zo." Meredith glances at her impressively neat printing – considering this is the same child who used to sign her name by smashing a purple crayon so deeply into construction paper that it didn't last more than three signatures. "We can look it up, though."

"Yeah. After I finish my picture," she says. "Here, look – me and Daddy climbing on the rocks …"

(Their daughter is many things, but forgetful is not one of them.)

"… and you and Bailey are building a snowman."

"That's great, Zozo." Derek leans over to check it out too. "You should save it and show it to your grandma."

"I'm gonna see her tomorrow?"

"Right. Tonight we're going to the airport, and we're all going to sleep on the plane – "

Silently, both Meredith and Derek cross their fingers at this.

" – and then when we wake up, we'll be in Connecticut."

Zola folds her drawing carefully.

…

Now they need to pack.

And then they need to repack when Bailey scoops folded clothing out of nearly-finished suitcases and hurls it around the room.

"He's going to be fun on the plane," Meredith teases. "Bailey … put that down, sweetie."

Zola wheels her new purple suitcase out of her brother's reach.

"Are we really doing this?" Derek looks nervous.

"We're really doing this."

"But …"

"Watch." Meredith beckons to Zola. "Open your mouth, sweetie."

Zola complies.

"Perfect pink tonsils. See that? Healthy as a little horse."

Bailey _neighs_ appropriately, which makes Zola laugh.

"Now you." Meredith scoops up their son and tickles him until he opens his mouth as well. "See? No chicken pox, no ear infections, no croup. Healthy as little horses."

Derek doesn't look fully convinced.

"We have three hours until we have to leave for the airport."

They look at each other, no words exchanged, and then nod …

… and proceed to spend an hour and a half chasing both children around the land surrounding the house.

"At this point," Derek murmurs to Meredith, " _I'm_ going to fall asleep when we board and the kids will still be running around."

It works decently, though, both children sleepily compliant by the time they pile into the car, suitcases loaded into the back – including the big blue one stuffed with the children's presents to be relocated under his mother's tree.

…

 _Never fly on Christmas._

It's one of those old adages he never really questioned. It just seemed right. Along with _don't leave at rush hour_ and _don't drive toward the water on summer Friday afternoons_. Those little reminders of how to maintain sanity when everyone around you is –

"Loud," Zola sighs. "It's _so_ loud."

"That's because so many people are traveling," Meredith says, making her tone as bright as possible, "going on trips, like us."

Derek fishes out the child-safe headphones they bought for each child. They checked enough baggage to make it through the airport, passed through security with minimal exhaustion, divesting shoes from a protesting Bailey and painstakingly unpacking their liquids, stocked up on water, and made it all the way to the gate relatively unscathed.

As they hoped, Zola is eager to put on her oversized pink headphones.

She fits them over her head and then settles on the vinyl seat, leaning against her father, to watch a Christmas movie on the rubber-encased iPad.

Bailey is already sleeping, curled up on Meredith's lap.

"Maybe it's not so bad," Derek muses, "if they stay asleep through boarding, even if they wake up when …"

"Derek," Meredith says.

"Hm?"

She raises her eyes toward the row of television monitors bolted to the top of the wall.

He follows her gaze.

The screen is white and powdery, bright yellow text marching across.

 _Winter Storm Moves Up the East Coast._

They exchange a nervous glance.

"It's okay," he says quickly. "They know how to deal with snow in Connecticut. They'll clear it. It will be fine."

Meredith nods.

"And the storm is moving _up_ ," he adds. "It might still change course. I'm sure the Carolinas will appreciate a nice white Christmas."

"I hope you're right."

"I hope so too," Derek admits. "Look, once we take off – we're off. All we need to do is get up in the air. All we really need to do is board the plane. What's easier than boarding?"

As it turns out … a lot of things.

…

Derek can remember, on flights before he became a parent, wondering vaguely why the airline permitted families with small children to board first.

Suffice it to say … he has no questions now.

And they board first anyway, because the only tickets available – for the price of a small house in the Bay Area – are in first class, a ridiculous expenditure when Meredith, Zola, and Bailey could all have comfortable fit in just one of those seats together.

Zola, who has been quietly watching her Christmas movie, eyelashes fluttering on her cheeks, half asleep, snaps to fully awake as Derek prepares to lift her up. "Where are we going?" she cries with enough alarm to attract the stares of other passengers.

"It's okay, sweetie, we're just getting on the plane and then you can go back to sleep," Derek murmurs, glancing at Meredith, who shakes her head, just as confused by Zola's sudden panic.

Bailey chooses that moment to throw up.

"Poor baby," a flight attendant seated nearby says sympathetically. "Is he sick?"

"No," Derek and Meredith say in unison.

"Just, uh, motion sickness."

"We're not moving."

" _Anticipation_ of motion sickness."

"Just – don't take off without us," Derek begs, and they find a family restroom – a thankful invention – to clean up Bailey.

"We only brought one change of clothing for him," Meredith says. "I was planning on putting him in then when we land. Wait – here are extra pajamas. Hm. They're Zola's, though."

"He'll make them work," Derek promises, and when they leave the bathroom, everyone clean and smelling quite a bit better than when they walked in, their son is sleepy, no longer crying, and dressed in ruffled pink pajamas several sizes too big.

"Mine," he says thoughtfully, examining the sleeve that's swallowed up his little hand.

"Those are mine. Mommy." Zola tugs on her mother's hand. "He's wearing _my_ pajamas."

"I know, Zozo, but he needed them, and you're such a good sharer."

"Okay," she says grudgingly. "But he _can't_ throw up on them."

Bailey smiles at his sister from his perch in his father's arms, but no one makes any promises.

" _This is the final call for Sky Airways Flight 4416 with nonstop service to Bradley International Airport_. _All passengers please proceed directly_ – "

"To the gate!" Meredith cries, hoisting Bailey to her shoulder as Derek scoops up Zola. They jog breathlessly, making it just as another announcement –

" _Passengers Shepherd, please make yourself known …_ "

"We're here!" Derek announces hastily, catching his breath as he thrusts four printed tickets into the gate agent's hand and ushering Meredith ahead of him onto the walkway.

A brunette flight attendant with arched eyebrows welcomes them aboard. "The regulation carseat for your little girl is waiting at your seat," she says, checking a list on her clipboard.

"She's five," Meredith says, "the airline didn't say she needed a carseat …"

"No, I mean your little one." The flight attendant points to Bailey.

"Oh! He's a boy," Derek says.

"…oh." The flight attendant looks from Bailey's blond hair – admittedly getting a little long, but it looks so cute that way – to his pink ruffled pajamas. "Well, your little boy, then."

"They're my pajamas," Zola explains. "My brother is borrowing them," and she leans heavily on the word _borrowing_ , "'cause he threw up on his pajamas."

The flight attendant's eyebrows raise. "Is he sick?" she asks Meredith and Derek. "Because airline policy – "

"No," they reply hastily in unison.

She doesn't look convinced, glancing between Bailey and the rest of the plane.

"Just a little overexcited to see his grandmother," Derek says. "He's meeting her for the first time," he adds, hoping a little emotional manipulation will work. "Both the children are." He rests a hand on Zola's head.

Their daughter, always a team player, bats her eyelashes a few times. "We're going to Connecticut," she tells the flight attendant. "C-o-n-n-e-c-t-i-c-u-t. The second _c_ is silent."

"All right," the flight attendant says finally, seemingly unable to resist Zola. "Go ahead and take your seats, and let me know if you need anything."

All four Shepherds exhale identical sighs of relief.

…

"Zozo, you need to turn that off while we're taking off."

"Why?"

"Because it's the pilot's rule, and he's in charge."

"Or she," Meredith corrects.

"We saw him go into the cockpit and heard his announcement," Derek points out. "It was a he."

"Our son is wearing pink pajamas with ruffles," Meredith says quietly. "We should encourage them not to assume anything."

Derek looks like he's trying not to laugh. "It's just a rule, Zo. Give me the iPad and I'll put it back on for you after we're in the air."

Zola, for her part, looks like she might cry.

"Here," Meredith says, "you can listen to … whatever's on here." She plugs Zola's headset into the media unit on her seat.

Zola listens for a moment, then her mouth drops open.

"What is it?" Meredith asks nervously. She lifts up one of the earpieces. "Zo?"

"It's a song," their daughter says, "with _bad words._ "

"Okay, I'll take those." Meredith pops the headphones off and puts them on her own head while she tries to find a family-friendly station.

She turns around and gives Derek a thumbs up.

Next to her husband, their son is strapped into the airline-provided carseat. He's holding his father's hand – which is so cute Meredith wishes she could take a surreptitious photo – and dozing with his head against the padded side of the seat.

Meredith turns back to Zola, who seems content with her new radio station, although she pulls off the earphones a few moments later.

"Mommy, the guy on my headphones says it's snowing a _lot_."

"Well, he could mean anywhere," Meredith says.

"He said the _east coast._ Is that where Connecticut is?"

"…yes," Meredith admits, "but maybe it was pre-recorded."

Zola gives her an _I might be in kindergarten but I'm not that easy to trick_ look, but lets it go, just popping the earphones back on her head and leaning against her mother.

Her daughter is dozing when the pilot finally announces that they're next in line for takeoff.

Meredith feels a light tapping on the sleeve of her sweater and turns around to see Derek smiling nervously at her. His eyes say _we're actually doing this._ She tries to communicate as much support as she can without moving her body at all; history has taught her that for the first hour she's asleep, Zola will wake to the slightest micromovements of the parent she's cuddling – and she won't be happy about it, either.

She turns back around when the plane speeds up its taxiing until, finally, it lumbers into the air. Sitting at the front of the plane isn't exactly smooth, Meredith feeling practically horizontal as the nose rises to haul them into the air. She peers over her daughter's head to see the lights of nighttime Seattle grow smaller and smaller, dizzyingly so, until they disappear under wispy clouds and, finally, inky blackness.

The seat-belt sign clicks off.

The pilot announces cruising altitude.

Derek's fingers brush Meredith's sweater again.

 _We did it,_ he mouths.

 _Don't jinx us,_ she mouths back.

She's kidding …

Sort of.

…

It's not clear what does it – whether it's the dinner offering in their cabin of chorizo omelet, or the slight turbulence that shakes the plane over Montana, or just one of those things, but Bailey throws up for the second time all over his borrowed pink pajamas.

Attempting to soothe him without also befouling their own clothes is tricky, but Meredith does her best while Derek hunts for a change of clothes.

"Whatever he has is – " Derek pauses.

"What's wrong?"

"I just realized that his spare clothes are in the red bag."

"The red bag? _Oh_ … the red bag."

… which is currently under the plane.

"That's okay," Meredith assures him, looking at Derek's crestfallen face. "He can keep borrowing from Zola. I'm sure I put a few extra t-shirts in her bag."

Zola's purple suitcase yields a spare t shirt. After some effort cleaning Bailey up in the tiny airplane bathroom – and, with a sigh at how wasteful they can't help being, throwing out the pink pajamas – Derek slides the lilac polka-dotted t shirt over his son's head.

Bailey, still whimpering a little as he stands in his socks on the closed toilet, holds his arms out to his father.

"I know, buddy, you're going to feel a lot better soon. I promise."

He's still kicking himself for not checking to make sure his son's spare clothes were in their carry-ons. They're not new parents, not anymore, but they're new _flying_ parents, and he supposes each new stage makes them new again. Like how they were _new school parents_ who sent Zola with a peanut butter sandwich that caused the school to practically evacuate the dining hall.

Bailey settles as Derek carries him back to their row, but starts to fuss as Derek tries to sit, tugging on his father's shirt and whimpering.

With flashbacks to his son as a baby, Derek recalls that Bailey still likes motion when he's upset, and starts to pace the aisles, holding his son against his shoulder.

He has his hand on the curtain between first class and coach, about to draw it back, when he hears the flight attendant.

"Sir, I'm afraid you can't walk between the cabins."

"Why not?" Derek asks, confused, swaying as much as he can in the confined space to calm Bailey down.

"It's not permitted," she says.

"But that section is _less_ close to the cockpit," Derek protests mildly, ignoring Meredith's none too subtle – and rather tasteless – _cut it out_ gesture from the row ahead.

"He has a point," one of the passengers seated behind them interjects, as Bailey starts to sob.

The flight attendant, who looks tired, shakes her head. "It's policy, sir."

Derek nods, not at all eager to add arrest at 35,000 feet to their travel adventure, and just does his best to walk Bailey up and down the small area allotted to them until he finally, mercifully, falls asleep. Zola, ensconced in a Christmas movie on Derek's iPad, the world blocked out with her child-safe headphones, is a perfect –

"Angel," the woman in front of them says, turning around. "What a little angel. My children never behaved that well on flights."

Meredith glances between a silent Zola and a finally quieting Bailey, still in Derek's arms in the aisle, assuming the woman must think she's only traveling with Zola.

Derek paces the aisle, relieved that the passengers' faces are sympathetic rather than judgmental of his fretting son.

Christmas spirit?

"Poor baby, is she motion sick?" one middle-aged woman asks kindly as Derek passes her seat.

Derek opens his mouth to correct her politely when he sees, for the first time, the writing on the oversized shirt his son is wearing.

 _Daddy's Little Princess_

"Yes," he says faintly, "I think so."

"What's her name?"

"Bailey," Derek replies, hoping that his son is too young to remember this conversation without some serious hypnotherapy.

"What a pretty name. Well, I hope she feels better soon."

Derek thanks her and makes his escape.

"How's he doing?" Meredith whispers, leaning over the back of her seat as Derek settles down with a finally sleeping Bailey in his arms.

He can see through the crack in the seats that Zola is curled against the window on her stuffed tiger, covered with a blanket, fast sleep.

"He's okay. No temp." Derek presses his lips lightly to his son's forehead to confirm. "Just a one-off, hopefully."

"Two-off."

"Right."

Derek carefully sets his son in his carseat, tucking him in with the padded straps and blanket, and placing his frog-headed security blanket in his arms where he can feel the plush material if he starts to wake up.

"They're both asleep," Meredith whispers.

"They're both asleep," Derek repeats.

… another Christmas miracle?

"We should get some sleep too," he says, noticing it's closing in on midnight Seattle time.

Meredith nods, and he watches her face disappear – with some disappointment – before he tosses a few times to find a comfortable spot in his own wide leather seat. Finally, he settles on half turned toward his son, one hand resting on the carseat, his own head close to Bailey's.

The plane is blanketed in quiet, dark and sleepy, with most passengers he can see tucked in, wearing eyemasks and noise canceling headphones.

That must be why it's so easy for him to fall asleep.

(And Meredith too, as the soft snores from the seat in front of him indicate.)

That – and practice sleeping whenever and wherever since he started practicing medicine.

Either way, it's peaceful – exciting, but peaceful, to be traveling to Connecticut with the people he loves most, bridging the gap between his family of origin and the family he's built.

His hand finds Bailey's small one, and he drifts to sleep with the white noise of the jumbo jet and the feel of his son's impossibly silky skin.

…

" _Ladies and gentlemen…"_

Derek starts awake at the noise echoing through the loudspeaker. In his experience, pilots very rarely interrupt red-eyes, leaving the passengers to sleep.

"… _may I have your attention, please?"_

Maybe it's already morning – but it's dark outside the windows as far as he can tell, and don't the flight attendants usually open them to usher in the morning light?

" _This is your captain speaking. I've just been informed that due to increasing winter storm conditions on the east coast, Bradley Airport is closing to incoming flights."_

Closed to incoming flights.

Derek snaps awake.

 _Closed to incoming flights?_

Meredith turns around, her eyes wide, fingers white-knuckled on the edge of her seat.

" _Air traffic control has diverted us to O'Hare, and we'll be starting our descent in about twenty minutes. Please return your – "_

All his other words disappear.

O'Hare?

 _O'Hare?_

They're landing in Chicago?

Unscheduled.

Unexpected.

Unplanned.

The flight attendants illuminate the cabin, rustling and anxious chatter echo through the plane.

"Please try to stay calm," the first mate urges from the front of the plane. "Flight conditions in the Midwest are excellent, and you'll be able to resume your journey as soon as conditions improve on the east coast."

"But what will we do?" One passenger moans.

"We'll arrange for overnight stays where we can and try to connect you out to other flights." The flight attendants look sympathetic. "We know it's difficult, with holiday travel…"

"What are _we_ going to do?" Meredith whispers, gesturing to their sleeping children.

Zola blinks awake just then, smiling up at her parents. "Are we landing?" she asks eagerly, looking from her mother to her father. "Are we in Connecticut?"

Derek and Meredith exchange a glance.

As one, they draw a deep breath.

They're all together.

They're all safe.

Bailey hasn't thrown up since Montana.

It's still _their_ Christmas.

"Zozo," Derek says, smiling as reassuringly as he knows how, "do you know what _deep dish pizza_ is?"

* * *

 _To be continued (of course). Don't worry, for those of you looking forward to the full on Shepherd reunion in Connecticut - I promise you, it's coming! But it wouldn't be a family vacation without a few bumps along the way. You know what they say: when travel gives you bumps, make bump-ade. (Okay, maybe that's not what they say.) Please review and let me know what you think. I love reviews like Zola loves her pink headphones!_


	3. Three Days to Christmas, Part I

_**A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback on the last chapter! Happy snowy Saturday to all, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.**_

* * *

 ** _Unto Certain Shepherds_  
Chapter 3: Three Days to Christmas, Part I**

...

* * *

As it turns out, Zola _is_ a fan of deep dish pizza.

"It's so soft and yummy," she says happily, sounding impressed.

Derek shakes his head. Clearly, he should have brought his daughter to the east coast sooner.

But even Zola isn't as big a fan of the new culinary sensation as Bailey, who chomps a vegetable-laden slice so enthusiastically you'd never know he threw up twice in the last twelve hours.

And it's a nice distraction from the rerouted flight, the closed airports. The food court is bright with fluorescent lights and crowded with other stranded travelers, talking and mingling and some just sitting quietly over cups of coffee, paper-wrapped burgers, thick slices of pizza and beer.

Announcements blare over the speakers in infrequent intervals, announcing flights everywhere but the place they need to go.

Everyone's in similar boats. They pick up scattered conversations that are very similar to their own, snatches of _Christmas_ and _snow_ and _reroute_ and _flight_.

"No help," Bailey orders his parents, pushing at their hands when they try to make the pizza easier to eat, and as a result his – well, Zola's – shirt soon has almost as much tomato sauce on it as the pizza itself.

Surprisingly, the pizza continues to sit well with him. There's color in his face – not just red from the tomato sauce – and he's cheerful. His mother, on the other hand, looks faintly green, but that might be because Zola begged for pineapple on the pizza. And she was so good on the plane that it was hard to say no.

"Okay." Meredith leans back in her chair. "At least we can get our checked bags, and …" she glances at Bailey, who looks admittedly adorable in his _Daddy's Little Princess_ shirt, and doesn't finish the sentence.

They wait patiently for their flight number to be called as the airline tries to sort out the luggage from the various rerouted flights.

But they don't hear it.

"I'll go see what I can find out." Derek looks at his pizza-stained son. "I'll take Bailey with me and see if I can find a store with some clothes too."

Meredith covers her mouth with her hand, hiding a smile. "Don't worry," she says. "I don't think anyone notices anyway."

He cleans his son as best he can first with damp napkins. Bailey's loud protests catch the attention of an older couple passing by, who smile at the scene. "She's a little firecracker, isn't she?" the white-haired woman says fondly.

Derek nods, having given up on arguing.

"Good thing your older daughter is such an angel," the older woman's companion says. "Two girls must keep you on your toes!"

 _They do, and so does the little boy…_

Out loud, Derek just thanks them weakly, then glances at Meredith.

"You were saying …"

"Right." She shakes her head. "Good luck…"

…

Derek leaves Meredith and Zola in the food court and carries his son to the information desk.

… where information is scarce.

He's shunted to another desk and then another where, finally, it seems like information might be imminent.

"Which flight did you say?" the customer service representative asks him.

He tells her.

"It looks like your luggage is here."

Derek exhales with relief. "That's great. Where can I find it?"

The rep pauses. "Well … it's being held in abeyance right now."

"In abeyance," Derek repeats. "Please tell me _abeyance_ is a terminal in the airport?"

"No, sir, I'm afraid it's –"

"I know what it is," Derek sighs.

"Security procedures," the rep says apologetically. "I'm sorry, I know this must be difficult." She gestures toward Bailey. "Perhaps you and your daughter would be more comfortable staying in one of the airport hotels, and getting some rest."

"We'll keep that in mind," Derek mutters, hoisting his son higher in his arms.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"You can direct me to a store that might have children's clothes."

"That's easy enough," the customer service rep says, smiling.

…

"What can I do for you?"

The sleepy eyed clerk in the airport convenience store looks like he wasn't expecting this much business on the overnight shift.

And his store has been picked over, it's clear, with vast gaps in the snack display where stranded passengers apparently grabbed powerbars and bags of chips with abandon. Gum is almost nonexistent. There are a few other passengers pawing through what's left.

But Derek doesn't need snacks. Not when his family has the midwest's largest pizza to keep them full for the next month or so.

What they need is …

"Clothes?" The clerk sounds unconvinced. "Didn't you bring clothes?" he asks.

"Our baggage is being held in abeyance," Derek says with dignity.

"My wife and I always pack extra clothes for out kids and carry them on board the plane," one of the random travelers interjects.

"Thank you," Derek says. "We'll keep that in mind for the next time, but right now, my son needs something to wear."

He points to Bailey, who smiles.

He sees the clerk exchange a glance with the traveler.

"Your son?"

"My son," Derek repeats.

"All right," the clerk says, heaving to his feet and heading for a small rack around the corner. "We've got our windy city collection, but there's not too many choices. What is he, a 3T? How about this one?"

He holds out a little Chicago Cubs jersey.

"Cubs?" Derek winces.

"Fine." The clerk rehangs the jersey. "Not a baseball fan? You want Bears? Bulls?"

"Don't you have anything that's not … sports-related? You know, regular clothing."

"Sir, with all due respect, it's 2:15 in the morning. All the _regular_ clothing stores have been closed for hours."

Derek nods. "No Cubs," he says finally, weakly, holding Bailey a little closer as if to shield him from the insult of being mistaken for anything other than the little Yankee fan he is.

"Fine." The clerk folds his arms. "Bears … or bulls?"

…

Meredith doesn't comment, though he can see her eyes widen at Bailey's new outfit.

He points to his own little belly with delight. "Mama! _Bear_ ," he reports delightedly.

"I can see that." Meredith holds out her arms for her son. "That's a great outfit."

" _And_ I have spares," Derek adds, holding up a plastic bag. "How are you two doing?" He glances at Zola. "Did you leave any pizza for me?"

"Lots," Zola says. "It's _so good_ , Daddy, it's the best pizza I've ever had."

Derek looks from his traitorous little deep dish-pizza loving daughter to his equally traitorous little Chicago team-advertising son.

 _We need to get out of this town._

Meredith catches his eye, looking like she's trying not to smile.

When Zola is distracted with the pizza again, Derek leans closer to Meredith.

"They don't think we're getting out of here before the morning," he murmurs. "Even though they seem pretty wide awake – they're going to crash soon."

He nods toward where Zola is picking pineapple off a pizza slice with one hand, her sleepy face propped in her other hand.

"And so are we," Meredith adds, covering a yawn with her hand.

"And so are we." Derek glances at his phone. "Let's pack it in and stay overnight, and see if we can get a flight out first thing?"

Most people are coming to the same conclusion. The shuttle they board has a few familiar faces from their flight, who smile or nod sympathetically to the tune of Christmas carols piped into the crowded bus.

It's going to be okay.

…

"Zozo! Are you okay?"

Their daughter shakes her head.

Meredith glances around the hotel room where they've just set down their few bags, confused. It's fairly small and serviceable, but it's clean and they're all together – and yes, they're exhausted – but Zola's sudden turn of mood is still surprising.

"What's wrong?" Derek asks, kneeling down in front of her.

"What if Santa can't find us here?" Zola sniffles.

Meredith pulls her in for a hug. "It's not Christmas Eve yet, sweetie. Santa has time to find us."

"But what if it snows and snows and we have to live here _forever_?"

"We are not living in a Fairmont Suites forever," Derek assures her firmly. "We're just staying here for one night – well, the rest of the night, anyway – and then we'll fly to Connecticut tomorrow."

"But what about the blizzard?"

"It will be melted by then," Derek says, silently praying to be right.

Zola rubs her eyes, leaning against her mother. She doesn't look convinced.

Derek takes her hand. "How about … a Christmas movie?"

He and Meredith exchange a glance before he turns on the television.

There should be a Christmas movie on this time of year – at least one – but then again, _should_ isn't really how their trip has worked out so far.

The set flickers to life.

"Rudolph!" Bailey calls happily.

Zola can't seem to help smiling, swiping at the one remaining tear on her cheek. "Can we watch Rudolph? Please?"

"Of course." Meredith sighs with relief. "Let's get ready for bed first, nice and fast so – "

Zola's already digging in her suitcase for her toothbrush.

The children's supply of clothes is dwindling. They'll pack better next time, they reassure themselves and each other, but nightclothes for both children come down to two choices at this point …

"Those are _my_ things," Zola says in a small voice when Meredith holds out her options.

"I know, sweetie, but we don't have Bailey's clothes right now. Remember, we only have a few things with us, so we're going to have to share and do the best we can."

"I don't want to share." Zola's voice trembles.

"I'm sharing too," Derek tells her. "Look – that shirt Mommy's going to sleep in is actually mine."

"It is?" Zola looks at the old Columbia t-shirt Meredith thankfully stashed in her bag.

"It is." He smiles at his daughter. "So pick which one you want to wear to bed and we'll give Bailey the other."

Zola nods, and then points to her candy-cane patterned pajamas.

Which leaves Bailey with the snowflake-embroidered nightdress his mother sent last Christmas, complete with white bows on the shoulders.

"Sorry about this, son," Derek mutters as he buttons up the back. Bailey doesn't seem to notice anything amiss, wriggling happily and getting water all over Derek like a dog after a bath.

The four of them snuggle under the surprisingly fluffy duvet to watch Rudolph. Both children are asleep within the first twenty minutes.

Derek's phone buzzes gently just as he, too, is starting to doze off. "It's Nancy," he says quietly.

Meredith looks up. "Did you tell her – "

He nods.

"They said they're disappointed, but … oh, look at that." He keeps his voice hushed to avoid waking the children.

Meredith gives him a questioning glance.

He pulls up Nancy's email on his tablet for a better view, expanding what she sent.

"Christmas," Meredith says slowly.

"Christmas. Last year. She said she figured it was the next best thing to our arriving when we wanted to." Derek studies the photograph. His mother is standing in the middle, wearing a Christmas sweater he'd recognize anywhere and smiling broadly. A few stockings are visible hanging from the mantel, though most are blocked by family members, and the edge of the big tree is creeping into the background.

Meredith looks from one cheerful face to the next, trying to make sense of the large and happy-looking family. She's met Carolyn, Nancy, and Liz, but each one only briefly, and none of the nieces and nephews.

"Joseph was the youngest. Until Zola." Derek smiles at a sweet-faced boy standing next to a bigger, protective looking teenager who has an arm around him. "That's Michael – he must be in high school now, and Shannon and Samantha … they're only a few days apart and they used to pretend to be twins …"

Meredith nods, trying to follow along as Derek points out his nieces and nephews. There are so many of them and they look so Christmassy and so … happy. Everyone is wearing red or green and smiling and if she didn't know better, she'd assume it was a commercial for life insurance or something.

"We used to take that picture every year. My father bought a tripod when I was a kid; he was so excited about it. Nancy has a more modern camera now," he acknowledges with a smile, "but they use the same tripod. Or at least they did when I lived there." He pauses. "I guess the kids are finally old enough to all look at the camera at the same time."

His voice trails off.

"We'll get there," Meredith says, taking his hand and squeezing it.

He nods, then glances at the screen, where Rudolph is still prancing merrily. "We'll get there," he repeats, leaning in to kiss her. She's so exhausted at this point she practically falls asleep halfway through the kiss.

Derek pretends to be offended, teasing her, but he's too tired to keep it up himself. They pile into the big bed with the two sleeping children, who wake only enough to snuggle close. Derek's eyes close first.

Meredith watches the three of them sleeping for a moment before she, too, dozes off, leaving the movie playing.

It's Christmas time, after all.

…

Meredith wakes to a small hand patting her hair. "Hi, mama."

"Hi, baby." She can't help smiling at her son's sweet greeting. He flops down on the bed next to her, then frowns.

"Not a baby," he reminds her.

"I know," she assures him, pulling him in close to cuddle. Zola is sprawled out asleep, taking up far more room than a little girl her size should be able to, because Derek is …

Where _is_ Derek?

He peers around the side of the bathroom doorway like he heard her thinking about him, and holds his phone aloft. Tucking Bailey back under the covers, Meredith slips out of bed to join her husband.

"Any luck?"

"Not yet." Derek grimaces. "Airports are still shut. Apparently the amount of snow and the drop in temperature has been unprecedented."

"Okay." Meredith nods, trying to sound positive.

"They're working on clearing it," he adds. "And hopefully things will change, but until then…"

Meredith waits.

"…they said we'll have our best luck going back to the airport."

"Then let's go back to the airport," she says with as much confidence as she can muster.

But they need to eat first, Zola and Bailey enjoying the change of scenery and the warm, bustling atmosphere of the hotel dining room. It smells of waffles and coffee, and children run back and forth across the floor while their exhausted-looking parents sip from mugs and give halfhearted instructions to calm down.

They corral both children after a moment, making plates for them, and Zola stops wanting to run when she realized that she has a waffle all to herself.

Across the table, in between convincing Bailey to eat eggs rather than just gnawing on the spoon, Meredith pauses, frowning.

"Does the coffee taste off to you?" she asks Derek, gesturing.

"No." Derek tastes it again to be sure. It's liquid gold, lighting up his exhausted nerves. "It tastes fine." He glances around the dining room. "It may not be what you're used to in Seattle," he teases her, "but under the circumstances, it's fine."

She tries it again and makes a face, only managing about half the cup before she sets it down.

Bailey, who has discovered individual grape jelly packets with the same enthusiasm as Ben Franklin discovering electricity, is soon both purple and sticky. They've managed to wrap him fairly effectively in napkins, since they're rapidly running out of clean clothing, but other than what Derek refers to as his Chicago Propaganda outfit, their options are severely limited.

"Our baggage should be available by the time we get back to the airport," Derek says boldly.

…

"Your baggage is still being held in abeyance," the flight attendant says cheerfully when she greets them.

Derek sighs.

"As soon as we can get you on a flight, the baggage will go with you," she adds.

"When will that be?"

"I'm afraid I don't know." She shakes her head. " _But_ …"

Derek looks up at her hopeful tone.

"… Three Beans is giving free coffee to stranded travelers in Concourse K."

"Thanks," Derek mutters, giving Meredith a subtle shake of his head as he rejoins his family.

"It was a long shot," she says comfortingly. Bailey, clad in his Chicago sports attire, is napping against her while Zola sits at her feet working on an activity book.

"The whole east coast is closed down," a man sitting near them observes.

"It can't last that long. Can it?" Derek scans the monitors over their heads, which are flickering back and forth among images of the various snow-covered airports.

Zola smiles up at him and he reaches down to stroke the top of her head.

"I hope not," a woman seated on the neighboring bench says. She's slumped over her suitcase, a teenaged boy sitting cross-legged next to her playing a handheld video game.

"Best case scenario? They open tonight … and there's still a 24-hour flight backlog," another stranger interjects. He looks like a businessman, with an expensive leather attache and a grim expression.

Meredith and Derek exchange a glance.

His cell phone rings just then.

"It's the travel agent," he tells Meredith, then stands up with the phone. "The other one," he adds.

"Give me good news," he says into the phone.

"Dr. Shepherd, I can get you to Miami on a flight that leaves in an hour."

"Miami?" Derek holds the phone away for a moment, confused. "Why would we want to go to Miami?"

"You would want to Miami because Chicago is getting hit with lake effect snow in about … three hours. Which means that even if things clear up on the east coast, you're not going anywhere. And it also means that these tickets are going to become a hot commodity as soon as the snow prediction hits the weather reports."

Derek glances over at the monitors, hearing snippets of the weather man: "Meanwhile, in the Midwest…"

"Okay, then. Miami it is." Derek says abruptly. "Book them. Thank you."

Derek returns to the gate where his family is waiting. Bailey is standing by the floor to ceiling windows now, pointing at a big jet. A boy who looks around eight or so, wearing a Chicago Cubs hat, is talking to him.

 _If we make it to Connecticut, the first thing I'm buying is a Yankees hat for my son._

Meredith smiles hopefully as he approaches; she's sitting a few feet from Bailey with Zola, who is still working on her activity book.

"We have seats," he says slowly, "on a flight to Miami."

"Miami?" Meredith looks confused. "Why are we flying to Florida?"

"Florida?" Zola perks up. "Does that mean we can go to the beach? And swim in the ocean? Is my grandma going to be there?"

"Grandma's in Connecticut," Derek says gently. "But remember, the airport in Connecticut is closed so we're going to take a … different route."

Zola looks thoughtful – then she closes her eyes, raising one little finger into the air, then frowns.

"Zo?"

"Florida's not on the way to Connecticut," she says, opening her eyes. "I was picturing the map in my classroom. Florida is orange on the map," she adds, "'cause of the oranges there."

"It's not on the way, exactly, but it's nice and warm with no snow to close the airports. And then we'll fly to Connecticut from there."

"When?"

"Soon, I hope."

"Okay." Zola looks thoughtful again. "What about our bags?" she asks.

"You know what? I'm going to call the travel agent back and see if she can find us someplace near the beach," Derek says quickly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Meredith smiling.

A few paces away, he dials the travel agent.

"Beach? No," she says firmly. "You need to stay in the airport so I can get you on the next flight to the east coast."

" _In_ the airport?" Derek winces, thinking of how stir crazy Zola and Bailey are sure to be soon, and Zola's delighted expression at the thought of the beach.

"Do you want to fly to Connecticut or not?"

"Of course I want to fly to Connecticut," Derek says. "I want to fly to Connecticut, _and_ I want my daughter to be able to swim."

"That's impossible," the travel agent says dismissively.

"Here I thought you could do anything."

There's a pause.

"It's not the beach," she says slowly. "But I do have an idea…"

…

"This is even better than the beach," Zola sighs happily, tipping her head back and smiling up at the sun.

Meredith smiles, shading her eyes with her hand, and then catches Derek's eye a few feet away in the shallow end, supervising Bailey's splashes.

The blue water of the pool laps at them; it smells of fresh oranges and coconuts from the bar.

"Swim!" Bailey cries joyfully, slapping the cool water with both his hands. The sun lights up his damp blond hair.

"Daddy, watch this," Zola says.

Just then, the roar of jet engines kicks up.

Bailey yelps and Zola's eyes widen.

"Okay, you know the drill," Derek says, raising his voice to be heard over the loud sound. "Cover your ears until takeoff."

( _"There's an airport hotel that might work for you. No, just hear me out, it's not your typical hotel. Let's just say there was a real estate dispute and they ended up with an outdoor pool that's still … at the airport."_ )

All four Shepherds turn as one toward the edge of the infinity pool, which appears to drop … onto the runway.

The big jet roars down the runway and finally lifts into the air what seems like feet away.

Not your typical hotel, indeed.

When they remove their hands from their ears, they see a woman is staring at them from a nearby lounge chair. She looks away when Derek notices her, but he hears her whisper.

"See, honey?" the woman says to her husband. "I told you, folks from Chicago just love to make sure everyone knows they're from Chicago."

Derek glances down at his swim trunks. They're a larger version of Bailey's, with _DA BEARS_ printed in large text on the backside, along with a few embroidered footballs. Meredith, who has the Chicago skyline printed across the top half of her two-piece bathing suit, smiles tightly. Zola, who is floating serenely in an inner tube shaped like the Sears Tower, bear-shaped sunglasses protecting her eyes, looks utterly unconcerned. Bailey, in a bear-shaped inner tube, waves merrily as he drifts toward the slightly disconcerting swim-up bar.

( _"Okay, we'll give the not-your-typical-hotel a try, as long as we have a chance to buy some swimsuits before takeoff._ ")

"Look, Daddy!" Zola calls again. He smiles when he sees that she and Bailey have figured out how to float together in their respective inner tubes by holding hands. Meredith leans against him.

It may not be home.

It may not be Connecticut.

And it may not the beach.

But it's definitely _something._

"Merry almost Christmas." Meredith grins at him.

"Merry almost Christmas."

* * *

 _To be continued. Enjoying the story? Please review and let me know!_


	4. Three Days to Christmas, Part II

_**A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback on this story. It's lots of fun to write, and gets me all Christmas-spirity. I have lots of stuff I'm excited about in store for the rest of the days leading up to Christmas. This chapter got so out of hand that I had to split it up, so you can expect Part III of 'Three Days to Christmas' to go up very soon. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**_

* * *

 ** _Unto Certain Shepherds_  
Chapter 4: Three Days to Christmas, Part II**

...

* * *

"Let me guess – your luggage is in abeyance too?"

Meredith looks up at the new voice. It's a woman around her age in a bright red bathing suit, waist deep in the water, holding a baby on her hip.

"How did you know?"

"Oh, just a hunch," the woman says. She lifts her shiny black hair away from her shoulders with her free hand and then, wincing slightly, turns around.

 _Dallas Cowboys_ , reads the back of her bathing suit. There's a lasso, and the buttons on the straps are little cowboy boots.

"Right." Meredith can't help smiling.

"I'm Susannah," the woman says.

"Meredith."

"Nice to meet you. We're supposed to be in Providence with my family. They haven't even met Zev yet." She gestures toward the baby on her hip.

"Well, for what it's worth, I like your bathing suit," Meredith says, smiling at the baby, who gives her a spit-bubble grin in response.

"Thanks." The woman rolls her eyes. "I would have been happy just swimming in my bra and panties but Josh thought we'd get kicked out of the hotel." She points to a tall ginger-haired man on the other side of the pool, who's playing with two dark-haired little girls.

"I mean, I don't have much modesty left." She points to the swimming children. "You'll see," she tells Meredith, "after the third."

"The third what?" Meredith blinks "Oh! That kind of third. No. We're, uh, not planning on that."

"Yeah … neither were we." Susannah grins. "But apparently no one told the margaritas my team bought me to celebrate closing a deal about, oh, a year and a half ago."

"Mama!" The smaller girl paddles up. "Mabel _splashed_ me!"

"It's a pool, Mais," Susannah says mildly. "Go splash her back."

Meredith hears an outraged shriek.

"Mom!" The older girl swims up now. "Maisie splashed me!"

"Don't dish it out if you can't take it," Susannah advises her. "Hey – why don't you play a game instead?"

She waits for her daughter to swim off.

"Actually, believe it or not, they get along better now that their little brother is here. They team up." Susannah props a hand on her hip. "They're good girls, really, just a little stir crazy from the insanity of flying from Phoenix to Chicago to Dallas to … Miami."

Derek returns then hand in hand with Zola, who's sipping on a plastic cup of water.

Susannah's older daughter swims back up then as if drawn by a magnet. " _Hi_ ," she says to Zola, beaming. "Can you come in the pool?"

Zola glances at Derek.

"It's okay," he tells her. "I'm coming in too."

Warily, Zola nods.

" _Cool._ Want to play with me?"

"Okay." Zola pauses. "Can my brother play too?" She points to Bailey, who is flopping happily in his swimmies at Meredith's side.

"Uh-huh." The little girl nods in the affirmative, pointing at her smaller sister. "But no dunking the little kids."

"No dunking anyone," Susannah says hurriedly. "Sorry," she tells Meredith. "She definitely gets this from my husband's side."

Both women turn to see the tall, redheaded man preparing to cannonball into the water while his younger daughter claps with glee.

With the rules settled, the children paddle away together, supported by their floating toys, mere feet from their parents but far away enough to feel independent.

"Do you mind …?" Susannah asks apologetically, gesturing toward the swim up bar. "I'd love a cold water."

"No, of course not. We'll watch them."

Meredith waits until Susannah is far enough to be out of earshot. "Derek," she hisses.

"What? They seem nice," he says.

"They're fine, but she said … she said I would see, _after the third_."

"After the third what?" Derek asks.

"That's what I said." Meredith waits for it to click.

"The third … oh! The third," he says. "Um…"

"Relax, it's just an expression." She pats the side of his face. He catches her hand and kisses it.

"Derek … save it," she teases.

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet." He pauses, then leans forward to whisper close to her ear. "The shorts light up."

She laughs in spite of herself.

…

"The travel agent said to keep the airport in sight line," Derek reminds them.

Which is how they end up in the vast dining room Derek is certain was designed during a bad acid trip in the seventies. It's horseshoe-shaped, lined with full-length, sloping windows that rattle worryingly every time a plane takes off.

Which is frequently.

"The windows must be sturdy," Meredith says, "or they would have shattered already. Right?"

Derek nods.

"May we join you?"

"Please," Derek says, smiling at the family they met in the pool. He can't help noticing that they're wearing clothes without a single sports insignia.

Frankly – he's jealous.

"One of our bags made it out of purgatory," Josh says.

"Abeyance," Susannah corrects with a grin.

"Abeyance," Derek sighs as Josh rescues a large spoon from his baby son's grip. "That's where our clothes are too. I wonder if we could get a ticket there. I doubt it snows in abeyance."

Zola, who is wearing a brand-new palm-tree printed dress from the hotel's gift shop and looks adorable, smiles at that.

(Unfortunately, all that was left in 2T _or_ 3T was German lederhosen. Bailey is pulling it off rather well, but it wouldn't have ben their first choice.)

"Think we'll make it to Connecticut before Oktoberfest?" Meredith murmurs as they settle Bailey into his booster seat. He's delighted to see his new friend Maisie, who promptly offers him her princess-imprinted sippy cup.

Derek watches their son take a swig and hand the cup back to the other child, then elbows Meredith. "Does he have to marry her now?"

"Nah, it's only, like, toddler second base." Meredith shakes her head, then pauses, remembering something. "Uh … I realize it's a little late, but I should probably tell you Bailey threw up on the flight."

Maisie's parents look unconcerned. "So did that one," Josh says, pointing at his oldest daughter. "We're probably about equal on the germ front."

Meredith nods, relieved.

And based on how all four children behave on the buffet line – rather like their parents have made a habit of starving them – whatever stomach ailments they might have been passing around are cured.

Meredith and Derek take turns and juggle flatware until both children are seated back at the table, beaming in front of plates piled high with what appears to be slightly more appealing than standard airline fare.

(That's when airlines still served food, which Derek realizes dates him a bit.)

The food is … plentiful. And starchy, and rather coma-inducing, but on the other hand there's a hammered-tin bucket of crayons at every table and the placemats are made of paper, so the children are in heaven.

Zola and Mabel are engaged in a complex game that looks a bit like tic tac toe, while Bailey and Maisie scribble colorfully, occasionally holding up a waxy-looking placemat for parental admiration.

The children beg for more swimming, and with no update on flights, it seems the best use of their time. Damp swimsuits are soon fully wet again, and with the children splashing happily together, Meredith draws Derek aside.

"Still no word from the travel agency?" Meredith asks Derek quietly,

"No word," Derek confirms, glancing down at his phone. "I checked in with both of them twenty minutes ago. They said sit tight …"

"…and keep the airport in sight line," Meredith finishes for him.

Derek nods apologetically.

"I can't believe I was worried about what it would like to bring the kids to your family's Christmas," Meredith sighs. "Now I'm worried we'll never get there."

Derek wraps an arm around her. "We'll get there," he says.

"There's something else."

Meredith looks troubled.

"What is it, Mer?"

"That picture with your nieces and nephews," she says, "the one you showed me in the hotel room?"

He nods.

"There were stocking in the picture," she says.

"There were stockings in the picture," he agrees. "Is that … bad?" he asks off her expression, confused.

"No, of course not. But it looked like they had names on them."

"Right. My mother needlepoints them. She started when we were kids." He pauses, realizing the issue. "She used to be really fast at them," he says. "All three of my sister's gave birth the same year, once, and she got them all done. But I don't think even in her prime she could make three stockings in two days."

"Three?"

"My old one is still there," Derek admits, smiling a little. "Look – the kids' stockings are in our luggage, and we'll get those … soon. In Connecticut, at least."

"Right." Meredith nods. "It will be fine."

"It will be fine," Derek agrees. "Everyone will love them … and you … and we'll be so full of my mother's cooking and so exhausted from chasing all the kids that no one will notice any of the stockings."

…

The nap shifts are Meredith's idea.

"The four of us need to be a team," she says. "Remember when you were an intern, and as long as _someone_ was awake, you knew your resident wouldn't throw you off the roof?"

He nods.

"So we take turns."

Derek agrees, as does Zola, who immediately decides Girls Against Boys is the only way to do it.

Derek is stretched out on a beach chair in the sun – still within view of the airport, of course – eyes closed, Bailey sleeping on his chest.

"They're missing the fun, though," Zola whispers to her mother as she and Mabel chase each other through the shallow end.

"We could all take turns," Susannah suggests. "Then we'd get more sleep."

"You might get on a standby flight before we do, though." Meredith shades her eyes, watching a plane taxi the runway. "Zozo," she calls, and watches as her daughter and her new friend both cover their ears briefly, then shrug and go back to playing.

"They're used to it," Susannah shakes her head. "How long have we been here? Weeks? Did we miss Christmas?"

She's idly moving her baby, Zev's, little inner tube back and forth through the water. Maisie can't seem to decide whether she wants to be with her mother or the older girls, and paddles her way along the pool, supported by brightly-colored floaties.

Watching Zola play with her new friend is adorable, but Meredith is still a little relieved when it's their turn to nap. She and Zola lie side by side on matching beach chairs, towels blotting the water from their suits, smiling into the sun.

She's not going to _sleep_ , but resting still feels nice.

It feels very nice.

"Meredith. Mer!"

She blinks awake to see Derek beaming down at her, looking like he can't believe what he's saying. "We got a flight. _We got a flight!_ "

…

She's not sure she's ever moved faster.

She's called any number of codes, had _very_ little warning during one of Zola's explosive stomach flus, and, during her years trekking around Europe, once had to run from a group of very angry sheep.

But this is still the fastest. With hurried goodbyes and _good luck Merry Christmas nice to meet you look us up if you're in Seattle_ they whisk the children away from the pool, Zola still half asleep, and manage to squeeze all four of them under the pool's meager spray of clear water.

"They're going to get pneumonia."

"Are you a doctor?" Derek frowns.

"Yes, and I'm also a mother, and wet hair is dangerous," Meredith insists, rubbing Bailey's hair vigorously enough to make him howl.

With the children dried and dressed – Zola in her palm tree dress, and Bailey in his lederhosen – they move so quickly the short distance to the airport that Meredith is pretty sure they could beat a taxiing jet.

"We did it," Derek whispers as they board the plane.

"Don't jinx it," Meredith scolds, hoisting Bailey higher on her hip.

But she needn't have worried. Take-off is smooth as milk, cruising altitude brings calm to the cabin, and they're halfway to Connecticut before they know it. It's so peaceful, in fact, that she drifts off to sleep, Zola's warm cuddly body snuggled against hers.

…

"Mommy!"

Meredith wakes up with a start. "Zozo – what's wrong?"

The plane shakes suddenly, violently, and she has her answer.

"It's okay," she mumbles. "It's okay, sweetie, we're just going through some turbulence."

"Folks?" The captain's voice echoes over the intercom. "I'm going to need you to take your seats and fasten your seat belts. We're passing through some rough air over the Atlantic."

The plane shakes again, jerking up, then down, just enough for Zola's small body to pitch forward. Meredith tightens her seatbelt, stroking her back to reassure her.

"What's turbulence?" Zola asks fretfully.

"It's the result of our interaction with a convective weather pattern. When the updraft and the downdraft …" The woman who turned around to answer Zola's question stops talking at the expression on Meredith's face. "I'm on my way to a conference at MIT," the woman admits, then gives Zola a smile. "It's nothing to worry about," she tells her. "We're flying through a thunderstorm."

"Thunder?" Zola's eyes widen.

"It's fine, sweetie," Meredith assures her, then glances across the aisle to where a woman in her fifties is holding rosary beads and murmuring a prayer. Zola notices too.

"Derek," Meredith hisses, leaning back so he can hear her, "would you tell that woman to stop praying?"

"I don't think you're supposed to tell people to stop praying," Derek whispers back. "Plus," he continues, raising an eyebrow at Meredith, "on the slim chance she has the right idea, we probably want her on our side."

Meredith swats him with the in-flight magazine.

"Zozo, everything's fine," she says, turning back to their daughter. "We'll be through this patch very soon, and then-"

The plane shakes harder this time, and someone a few rows up shrieks.

Zola looks terrified.

"It's okay, honey," another woman says, leaning into the aisle. "Turbulence has never brought down a jetliner, or caused it to break up mid-flight. Of course, statistically speaking, that _could_ mean – "

"Excuse me," Meredith interrupts politely, "are you also headed to that conference at MIT?"

The woman nods.

"Great. Please stop helping."

"Mer," Derek says mildly from behind her.

"Mommy, it's loud," Zola whispers.

"I know, sweetie. Why don't I tell you a story, and then it won't be so loud."

"Can you sing to me?"

"Sweetie, I don't know if people want to hear us singing…"

"I think it's a great idea," the man in front of them says, turning around. "Good thinking, kid."

"You'll sing too?" Zola asks.

"Zo…"

"Sure," he says amiably. He gives Meredith a shrug as if to say, _kids!_

"Do you know the other part to Jingle Bells?" Zola asks hopefully.

"You mean this part?" the man asks, and sings a few bars.

Zola's mouth drops open when she hears his voice.

"You're a _real_ singer," she breathes.

"Trained, anyway." He smiles at her. "I'm actually trying to get to Carnegie Hall," he admits, "and this was the only route after that big storm. So. Shall we get started?"

It starts with just Zola and her new friend, but a few verses in they've divided the cabin into sopranos and altos and Zola is leading her side with a fervor. It turns out there are five members of a children's chorus aboard, as well as a retired Broadway actor and a professional pianist, all of who do their best to keep the travelers on key.

The plane shakes.

The passengers sing.

The woman who was praying only minutes ago has a nice clear soprano; Zola gives her a thumbs-up and she returns it.

They're two verses into _Hark the Herald Angels Sing_ when Derek suddenly realizes the plane isn't shaking anymore.

"Folks, it looks like we've made it through the storm," the captain announces over the intercom; the singing wilts to hear his words. "I want to thank all of you for your patience, and your creativity – especially the little conductor in row sixteen."

Zola smiles proudly.

"Sit tight and we'll have you on the ground in Hartford in just a few more carols," the captain adds before clicking off the intercom.

"Did he say a few _carols_?" Meredith asks, leaning back to see Derek. "Or a few _minutes_?"

"I'm not sure," Derek admits.

" _We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmaaaaaaaaas…"_

"Carols," Meredith whispers. "I guess he said carols."

"Mommy, sing," Zola urges.

"… _and a happy new year!_ "

* * *

 _ **To be continued. Please review and let me know your thoughts; I love hearing what you think, and it keeps me motivated to update. Merry McChristmas to all!**_


	5. Three Days to Christmas, Part III

_**A/N:**_ _Thank you for the reviews! I appreciate every one of them and it's great to hear from you. Meanwhile, looks like life is catching up to this story, with five days left to Christmas for us and three days left for the McFamily. (And **Susan** , your Delta comment cracked me up!) I hope you enjoy this chapter, and merry Christmas week!_

* * *

 ** _Unto Certain Shepherds_  
Chapter 5: Three Days to Christmas, Part III**

...

* * *

"… _won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"_

"Hey!"

Meredith feels a tap on her shoulder and turns around in her seat to see Derek.

"What's wrong? Was I supposed to be harmonizing?"

"No, it's not that – look – "

He's pointing toward the window.

"We're landing," Meredith whispers.

"We're landing," Derek agrees.

"Everybody!" Zola shouts joyfully, and the cabin's loud, if not quite on-key, version of _Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer_ guides them all the way down to the runway.

The plane bursts into applause as the wheels touch down with a jolt, the engines roaring almost – but not quite – loud enough to drown out the third rendition of _Rudolph._

Zola stops singing, turning wide-eyed to her mother. "Are we here? Like really here?"

"We're really here," Meredith says, her tone wary as she looks out the small cabin window, watching the lights guide them toward the gate. They're definitely at an airport, at least. As to whether they're in Connecticut … well, the rest of their journey suggests Cleveland, Carson City, or even Calcutta might be more likely.

"I see lights!" Zola says happily.

The windows are fogged up. It's cold, wherever they are.

Which is hopefully Connecticut.

She has no more time to worry, because the seat-belt sign clicks off and a cabin full of restless, rerouted travelers leaps to their feet as one, jostling good-naturedly for space and juggling bags from the overhead compartments.

"Stay close, Zozo," Meredith warns, as the press of passengers creeps into the aisles.

Right behind them, Derek is holding Bailey in one arm and their carry-on in the other.

"We're here," he says to Meredith, but she notices that, like her own tone, it sounds not quite relieved … and still a little wary.

"This is Hartford, right?" she whispers to him, over Zola's head so she won't alarm their daughter, as they make their way up the aisle.

"Here's hoping." Derek stops briefly near the front of the plane. "I didn't hear the captain welcome us, though."

"Well, sorry about that!" a cheerful voice cuts in. "I should have welcomed you."

Meredith looks up to see the silver-haired uniformed pilot smiling in a friendly way.

"Thanks for flying with us," he says. "And welcome to the Nutmeg State."

"Thank you," Meredith says weakly, then grabs Derek's arm as they exit the plane. "That _is_ Connecticut, right?"

"Yes. I think so." Derek pauses. "Actually, I thought it was the Constitution State."

Meredith presses her free hand to her forehead. "Why doesn't this surprise me?"

"It's both," Zola pipes up, tilting her head up to see her parents as she walks between them. "Nutmeg _and_ Constitution. I read it in my _Nifty Fifty States_ book."

"Really?"

"Really," Zola beams and both her parents finally exhale in actual relief.

"Then that means we officially made it," Meredith declares. Derek smiles at her, hoisting Bailey a little higher as they make their exhausted path down the jetway.

"It was quite a trip," he says mildly.

"It was _fun_ ," Zola says with approval, rubbing her eyes and hefting her little backpack. "'Specially when we sang."

They pick their way carefully among the other exhausted travelers, toward the baggage carousels and the roped off pick-up area where Meredith can see a few tired-looking uniformed drivers with name placards, and scattered other people bundled in winter gear waving to their approaching family members.

"Daddy …" Zola tugs on Derek's hand as they approach the carousels. "How are we going to get to Grandma's?"

"Derek," Meredith says.

"We'll take a taxi, sweetie," Derek says, pulling the blue suitcase behind him and leaning back to scan the monitors for their flight and their elusive baggage.

"Is it far away?"

"About half an hour," Derek tells her. "And it's perfectly okay for us to sleep on the ride."

"Derek," Meredith says again. "Look over there."

"But what if there aren't any taxis?" Zola asks worriedly, speaking over her mother.

"There are always taxis, Zo, don't worry."

" _Derek_ ," Meredith takes his arm. "I really think you should look – "

"Randall!" Derek strides forward. "Mason! What are you doing here?"

He looks from one brother-in-law to the other. The two men are standing side by side, grinning, holding a large hand-lettered sign between them that says SEATTLE SHEPHERDS.

"It's Christmas, Derek! You think we're going to make you take a taxi?" Mason asks. He's a little greyer than the last time Derek saw him – not that he can judge – but otherwise looks like the same as he remembers: a lanky former athlete in the requisite fleece and boots of the season.

"Plus you can't trust a taxi in this weather," Randall says. His hairline suggests that Derek's presence in Connecticut isn't the only thing to have receded, but his smile and his shearling-lined ear-flap hat are both instantly recognizable.

"Of course not. No snow chains," Mason says knowingly. "Hey! Who did you bring with you?" His expression turns puzzled as he pretends to be confused by Zola and Bailey.

Zola is studying him shyly from her position half hidden behind her father. Derek rests a hand on his daughter's shoulder without urging her to leave her spot. His brothers-in-law can be overwhelming; with ten kids between them, they're nothing if not fun – and rough and tumble, and loud.

"Meredith," Derek wraps his free arm around her. "Meet Randall," he points, "and Mason. My sisters' husbands. Well, two of them." He pauses. "One sister each."

" _One sister each,_ huh? That's … clinical," Mason says, laughing a little. "Great to meet you, Meredith. We've heard a lot about you."

"I'm sorry you had such a tough time getting out here," Randall adds, stepping forward to shake Meredith's hand. "We haven't had this much snow in ages. It's not coming down anymore, but there's still plenty on the ground." He glances at Zola. "Enough for a whole army of snowmen," he says neutrally.

Derek has to hide a smile as his daughter's ears prick up. "Snowmen?" she asks, tugging on the hem of Derek's coat. " _Real_ snowmen?"

Derek leans down to pick her up, hoping she'll feel more secure at eye level with the first members of her extended family to greet her here in Connecticut. She loops an arm around his neck, leaning against him.

"Real snowmen," Derek confirms. "Maybe we can build some tomorrow."

"Tonight?" Zola asks hopefully.

"Tonight … we're going to sleep," Derek says, "as soon as we get to the house." He looks at Mason. "How's Mom?"

"Worried about the four of you, but otherwise fine. She blames herself for you getting stuck."

"It's not her fault unless she can control the weather," Randall interjects, then pauses. "You know, Derek, sometimes I wonder if your mother _can_ control the weather."

"Now we know she can't," Mason points out, "or she would have cleared up all the snow."

"Can we help you with your bags?"

"I hope so," Derek says. He gestures toward the carousel. "Still not sure if we're getting any. I might go talk to the gate agent again. Mer …"

She nods, shifting a sleeping Bailey to her other hip.

He feels a little guilty leaving her with his brothers-in-law, but then again, it's better than his sisters for a first jaunt. Married to the almost equally bossy Nancy and Kathleen, respectively, both Randall and Mason are generally calm and pleasant to be around.

…

"I like your palm tree dress," the agent says, smiling at Zola, who thanks her.

"Is there any chance that our luggage…" Derek tries to reorient the conversation.

"I'm sorry, sir." The agent looks sad. "It's still being held in abeyance at O'Hare."

Derek draws a deep breath. "It's just that our Christmas … things … are in there," he says, not wanting to use the word _presents_ and alert Zola that not all of her gifts will be arriving on Santa's sleigh.

"I'm sorry. It's a mess at the hubs with all these cancelled flights." She shakes her head, glancing around at all the gathered travelers, some with weary expressions like they're still a few steps from completing their journeys, some looking relieved to finally be in Connecticut. To a one, they're bundled for winter. The air is hot and dry with blasting air vents, the airport's glass windows fogged from the temperature variation. It's winter, Connecticut winter.

"You can check back tomorrow," the agent suggests, "and if anything changes, we'll be sure to call you."

Derek thanks her as sincerely as he can, his stomach sinking.

 _How am I supposed to tell Meredith that not only will our kids be the only ones without personalized Shepherd stockings, they'll be the only kids without stockings at all?_

He tries to strategize. The kids get up early – though jet lag might help them a bit there, as well as travel exhaustion. His mother would be upset knowing the problem, so he'll need to keep it from her and sneak out. She's always complained that big box stores have replaced the mom and pop shops of his childhood, but now he's grateful, because they're more likely to be open and proffering stockings in the early hours of the morning.

And as for their names … well … there are sharpies, and even if all his sisters are doctors with equally terrible handwriting, one of Lizzie's kids went to art school, didn't she? Surely she can fix their names if Derek screws it up.

"Daddy, what about our stuff?" Zola looks worried.

"It's fine, sweetie. We don't need our stuff," he tells her, hoping it sounds believable. "We have each other … and we have plenty of stuff at Grandma's house."

"Does Grandma have a lot of clothes?" Zola asks, sounding interesting. "Kid clothes?"

"Actually … she probably does," Derek says with a smile, thinking of his mother's military-precise organizing of hand-me-downs, first from sibling to sibling and then among cousins and grandchildren. "We'll get everything we need."

She doesn't look convinced.

"And we'll build a snowman tomorrow," he reminds her, and a smile plays at the corners of her lips. She can never stay down for long. He kisses her cheek, and she loops an arm around his neck.

"Daddy … those are my uncles?"

Derek nods. "Those are two of your uncles. You have one more."

"How come they came to get us?"

"They came to give us a Shepherd Christmas welcome," Derek says. He nudges her gently. "They're excited to meet you, Zozo."

"Oh." She looks pleased.

When he returns, his fears are allayed: Meredith is deep in conversation with Randall, who Derek forgot went to Dartmouth, Mason standing beside them looking amused as Bailey stares with interest at his new uncle's bearded face.

"Ready? Let's go out in the cold." Randall points to Derek's jacket. "Better zip up."

"It's cold!" Zola cries as the automatic doors heave open and spit them out on the icy pavement, hanging tightly to his neck.

"I know. We'll be in the car soon." Derek holds her close to share his body heat, Meredith tucking a gloved hand through his arm as Mason carries Bailey a few paces away. Unfazed by the strange new additions to their lives, Bailey waves a mittened hand cheerfully at his parents and sister from over his uncle's shoulder.

"An actual minivan. In the wild," Derek teases his brother-in-law when they reach his car.

Mason rolls his eyes. "Five kids. I said we should just strap 'em to the roof of the car but Kathy wasn't having it. If we can just get them all off to college, then I can trade this thing in."

"Meredith," Randall says, his face very serious, "I'm so sorry you have to ride in this thing."

"Don't listen to him," Mason interjects. "He's got the exact same car."

Meredith looks a little overwhelmed, but manages a smile. "I think it's a fine car," she says.

"There, you see? Derek, don't wait to have your fifth kid, just buy one of these now."

"I think we're all set," Derek says hurriedly, resting a hand on Meredith's shoulder and hoping she wasn't too horrified at the phrase _your fifth kid._

Zola falls asleep against him minutes into the trip, her little hand wrapped around his fingers the way she used to as a baby. The headlights of passing cars illuminate her sweet sleeping face, then throw it back in shadow.

"It'll be nice," Randall says quietly from the front seat, without turning around, "having little kids around at Christmas again. Been a while."

It sure has.

…

"Okay, sweetie, it's really late," Derek whispers to Zola, lifting her out of the minivan and into his arms. "We're going to go to sleep as soon as we get inside, and we'll see everyone and everything in the morning, okay?"

"Snow," she murmurs sleepily into his shoulder, managing to sound both delighted and half awake all at once.

Snow, indeed.

It's everywhere, blanketing the grounds around the old house where he grew up, burying whatever car was sitting in his mother's long driveway before they got here, doming in igloo-formation over the big metal playset that's sat on the scrubby grass for at least twenty years. Even the old tire swing is piled high with snow like a frosted doughnut.

"Careful, now," Mason warns. "Here, I'll take the little one."

Meredith hands Bailey, now awake, to his uncle, bracing herself for him to cry, but he settles passively in the unfamiliar arms, apparently too busy being fascinated by the strange man's beard to get upset.

"Santa," he whispers happily, tugging experimentally on a few greyish strands.

"Ow," Mason chuckles a little, shifting his nephew. "That's attached to my face, buddy."

"You okay there, Santa?" Randall asks, sounding amused. "Told you to cut back on the steaks."

Mason, who looks at lean as Derek remembers, still manages to seem offended. "Look who's talking," he retorts. "You want to go head to head? Tomorrow on the trail."

"Guys," Derek intercedes mildly. "You want to declare a truce before we all get frostbite?"

Their breath mingles in the cold air.

Meredith and Derek step carefully, but their boots – sensible and waterproof for Seattle – are no match for the Connecticut snow. Each footstep is a crunch following by a dip and release of the hard first layer, and then –

"Oh!" Meredith exclaims quietly as her slight weight sinks into the snow up to her knees.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," she assures him quietly. "Just not used to real snow anymore, I guess."

They pick their way carefully across the snowy flagstones, toward the winking yellow lights of the rambling clapboard house where Derek was raised.

"Not long before the part where we – there we go," Randall narrates as they reach a narrow path the men must have shoveled recently, because there's no fresh dusting of snow – just high white frozen walls on either side all the way to the cleared porch steps.

Finally, they've ascended the rickety steps – no more reassuringly sturdy weighted down with wet snow. Derek pauses instinctively on the porch, studying the front door he hasn't seen in nearly a decade, a fragrant wreath hanging where it always does – fresh from McCafferty Family Christmas Farms, if his mother is as consistent as ever, and tied with the same dusty velvet ribbon ever year.

"Derek?" Meredith prods gently.

He nods, reaching for the doorknob – which turns easily under his gloved hand.

"She's still not locking the front door?" Derek shakes his head.

"She knew you were coming, Derek. It's not like she's advertising to the Hell's Angels." Mason shakes his head, then gestures to Randall, and they turn toward the steps.

"You're not coming in?" Derek asks.

"Nah. We got you here, that's our job." Randall pats Derek's shoulder. "We wanted to give Mom some time with you. All of us did. We'll be back."

Derek blinks into the cold.

"Now go in before you freeze your – " Mason pauses. "… toes off," he finishes, with dignity. He gives Zola a little wave. "See you in a bit, princess," he says, and Zola waves sleepily in return.

Drawing one last deep breath of cold air, Derek pushes open the door.

"You're here!"

The familiar voice greets him before his eyes can adjust to the low yellow light.

His mother is standing in the entryway in fuzzy slippers and her well-worn Christmas dressing gown – red and green checked with a white placket – beaming.

"Mom, you're still up – it's so late," Derek chides gently, taking in the scene that's been nothing more than a memory for ten years: the same tall polished coat tree, the same family portrait hanging in a chipped frame: the one with four-year-old Amy sticking out her tongue that his mother wouldn't let them reshoot. She said she loved it because it was _honest._ The same rack of boots by the door, a towel catching the parade of icicles. "After eleven."

He realizes he's been worried, since he heard the phrase _sold the house_ , that everything would be different. He's not sure what he pictured – empty walls? Stacks of boxes? A pile of suitcases on a bare floor? But so far the house, like his mother, looks oddly … and reassuringly … the same as he remembers.

"Nonsense. You think I'm going to sleep through your arrival? I'm not _that_ old." His mother is smiling, but not at him. Her eyes are locked on the little girl in his arms.

Zola, for her part, is staring back at her grandmother with interest. For a moment they just stand on the threadbare rug in the entryway, dripping cold snow remnants, inhaling the warm air that smells of chocolate and pine, just like every Christmas he can remember in this house.

"I'm glad to see you," his mother says quietly, looking from one of them to the other. "You had quite a trip to get here."

"We're glad to be here," Meredith says, and Derek thinks he can see a sparkle of moisture in his mother's eyes.

"Well, then. Traveling for days at Christmastime, what a mess, but you're here and that's what's important. Bed, and sleep, for everyone." His mother studies Zola's face again. "But first you need a warm drink, I think, sweetheart. Do you like hot chocolate?"

Zola pauses for a moment, then nods.

"All right, then. Come with Grandma," his mother says, bustling with confidence.

Derek hopes she won't be too disappointed when Zola shies away, because these things take time.

They take time, and patience, and –

"Daddy … can you put me down?" Zola whispers in his ear.

Surprised, he does; she shrugs out of her coat and follows his mother, who throws an amused look over her shoulder, toward the kitchen. "Come and join us," his mother adds as they move through the swinging door.

"Okay, Derek, you didn't mention that your mother is the Pied Piper," Meredith says, carefully unzipping Bailey's little jacket.

"Didn't that story end badly?"

"I don't remember. Is he the one who drove the snakes out of Ireland?" Meredith frowns. "The point is … she's Crack Grandma."

"Crack Grandma!" Derek laughs in spite of himself. "Don't let her hear you say that."

Privately … he thinks his mother would be flattered.

When they reach the kitchen, they find Zola and his mother seated at the same scarred wooden table of his youth, like confidantes, a cup of cocoa in front of each of them.

"Hello there, little man," his mother coos to Bailey. "Don't worry, I'll let you rest – look how comfortable you are." Bailey gives her a sleepy half-smile; he's reattached himself to Meredith, burying his face in her neck and fisting a handful of her long hair.

"It's been a big day," Derek says.

"Of course it has. And he's dressed up for it too," his mother says, and Meredith could swear she winks.

Patting the back of his lederhosen, Meredith rocks him a little, and gives Derek's mother an apologetic look.

"What a sweet boy. My girls were sweet, too," Carolyn says, perhaps worried her daughters would be offended, "but this one …"

"Mom," Derek shakes his head, faking only about half the embarrassment.

"It's good to have you here, that's all," his mother says. "And we should get some sleep. I have a lot of Christmases to make up for with these two, and I have big plans for tomorrow."

"You do?" Zola asks, eyes wide.

His mother nods. "Including the snowman I understand you'd like to build."

Zola nods eagerly.

"First thing tomorrow," her grandmother assures her. "As long as your parents agree."

"I don't know," Derek teases, "how soon is _first thing_?"

"Now, then. The girls made up the bed and some cots in your old room, Derek, and they're all ready for you. There's plenty of room in the house with your sisters still at their own places, but I figured you'd all want to be together tonight."

"We do."

"Good." Derek's mother nods, looking satisfied.

"Grandma," Zola says, rattling her spoon a bit in the bottom of her empty mug, "can I see your Christmas tree?"

Derek tries wordlessly to gesture _no_ to his mother. Tree means stockings and stockings mean Zola seeing that she and her brother are missing from the family display on the oversized fireplace. It's always been the same, even as it's changed and grown: first the five children and their spouses, where applicable, and then all the grandchildren in age order.

"Mom," Derek mutters, but his mother is already responding to Zola, clearing her cocoa mug and beaming.

"Of course you can, darling," she says. "Come with me."

He follows behind, resting a hand on Meredith's back as his wife carries their sleeping son.

The thought of disappointing his daughter makes his stomach ache, and he tries to brace himself as they head for the big living room where his mother has set up their Christmas display every year of his life.

They'll just explain it to her, he tries to reason with himself. Zola's a smart girl, a mature one, and she'll understand, even if it takes away some of the magic of –

"That's _my_ name!" Zola squeals excitedly.

Derek looks up in surprise. His daughter is standing in front of the fireplace in her brightly-colored palm-tree dress, beaming, her little hand tracing the needlepointed letters on a gaily colored stocking.

"Well, I should hope so, since that's your stocking," Derek's mother says, smiling at her granddaughter.

"There's even a _snowman_ on it," Zola breathes happily. "Wow. And look!" She turns slightly. "Look, it's Bailey's stocking too!"

"It sure is." Derek leans in, scarcely believing it. But there it is, looking perfectly at home in the sea of stockings belonging to his nieces and nephews, each emblazoned with a cheerful representation of the season – Bailey's is a reindeer – with each child's individual name needlepointed in big looping letters to make them easy to read.

"Mom," Derek says softly.

"And look, Daddy!" Zola tugs on his hand. "That's you, see, _Derek_! That's your other name!"

Derek can't help smiling at this, as well as at the well-worn stocking. It's the same one he had as a boy, with a somewhat threadbare embroidered snowshoe, topped with red berries and green leaves.

And hanging next to it …

"There's Mommy's," Zola says happily, with finality. "See, _Me-re-dith_. Your name is long," she tells her mother, "but it even fits, see? And you have an ice skate!" Zola runs an admiring finger along the silver needlepointed blade.

"Grandma's an expert at fitting names," Derek agrees, "she practiced on Elizabeth … your aunt Elizabeth."

"That was the first one," his mother admits, "and it took a few tries, but we made it work."

Zola can't seem to stop smiling as she returns to her own stocking, touching once more the letters that make up her name, running her fingers over the bright colors, from the gleaming white snowman to his coal-black top hat, orange carrot nose, and cheerful green and red scarf.

Derek pulls his mother aside as Zola shows off details of the stocking to her own mother.

"Mom," he murmurs, "you had almost no notice of our visit. How on earth did you make those three stockings?"

"Oh, I didn't make them this year, dear," his mother says casually, keeping her voice down too.

"You didn't?"

"Of course not. Let's see." She taps her chin, apparently thinking. "I made Meredith's … when was it … right after I gave you the ring, I suppose."

Derek's eyes widen. That was so many years ago, before he asked Meredith to marry him. A whole lifetime, it seems, before their two children.

"And I made Zola's and Bailey's as soon as I knew their names," his mother continues. "Just like I did for all my other grandchildren."

Derek blinks. The room suddenly seems warm, and he finds that his eyes feel tight.

"But all this time," he says quietly.

His mother shrugs, smiling at him, and then reaches out to pat his arm fondly. "It's all right, dear. I knew you'd come one of these days … and I wanted to be ready."

* * *

 _They made it! I've been looking forward to the family time in Connecticut, which was the original inspiration for this story. I love a good travel-mayhem leadup and I love Christmas with all the trimmings, so you know you can expect both with this story. Thank you for reading. I'd love to know what you think, so please review! Thank you!_


	6. Two Days to Christmas, Part I

_**A/N:** Merry McChristmas and Happy New Year! Sorry this update is so long coming, but I am definitely finishing this now slightly-out-of-date story. It might not be the originally planned three chapters (um ...), but it's getting there, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

 ** _Unto Certain Shepherds_  
Chapter 6: Two Days to Christmas, Part I**

...

* * *

At his mother's one definitive word – _bed_ , just like he remembers – the four Shepherds make their way with their unfortunately minimal baggage up the long creaking staircase of his childhood home.

"Grandma's house is _big_ ," Zola observes in a reverential whisper – she's insisted on carrying her own little bag.

Derek smiles at her. "It felt smaller when all of us lived here," he says, urging Meredith ahead of him with a hand on the small of her back. She's still holding a mostly asleep Bailey, who's wrapped around her like a baby koala.

"Follow me," he says quietly, leading her toward his old room.

Meredith gives him a slightly doubtful look at the door, which still has a faded sign shaped like a catcher's mitt that says _Derek's Room_.

"There'll be room for all of us," he assures her. "My mother sets up this place for Christmas like a Dickensian orphanage."

Meredith looks like she's trying not to laugh.

"My sisters have fourteen kids," Derek amends, "and three husbands. Collectively. So, you know … a lot of beds."

He's right – there's even a little toddler bed for Bailey in his old room, and a larger child-sized bed for Zola.

"I'm impressed," Meredith says, looking from one bed to the next.

"She's had a toddler here since 1962. She's pretty much always prepared."

"Mommy!" Zola pulls on her mother's hand, then gestures to Derek. "Look, jammies!"

He sees folded piles of flannel on each of the beds. Two on the corduroy-covered bed that was his, one on the toddler bed, and one on the child-sized bed. Zola goes right to her bed and unfolds them. " _Christmas_ jammies," she sighs happily. They're red and green striped.

All of them.

They match.

"Your mother thinks of everything." Meredith shakes her head.

He can't really disagree, so he just enjoys Zola's delight as she changes into the new pajamas and directs the rest of them to do the same.

And then she's off looking around the room – they've kept the lights dimmed so Bailey will keep dozing, and to keep Zola from waking up too much, since it's after midnight, but she goes right to a wood-framed photo on the bookshelf and Meredith follows her there.

She pauses, taking it in.

It's a faded picture, clearly taken downstairs in the very same room with the stockings where they just were. Faded, but clear all the same. Seven people in pajamas and robes, stocking-bedecked mantel behind them. Not nearly as many stockings as she saw downstairs, before.

But her gaze is caught on the figure in the middle of the photo, smiling toward the camera with a boyish grin, one hand on the shoulder of a blurry little whirlwind of a girl standing next to him. Her heart swells at the sight of him; she sees Bailey in his face and Zola's impishness and when she sees the figure of his own father behind him she wishes she could reach through the frame and touch him. They look so happy.

"What are you – oh." Derek approaches, glancing at the frame.

"Daddy, that's you."

"It sure is." Derek examines the photo.

"You're cute," Zola giggles, and he drops a kiss on the top of her head.

Meredith can't help but agree. The boy in the photo has floppy, not-quite-tamed dark hair and his eyes are sparkling with Christmas merriment. He's wearing striped pajamas and a warm-looking robe and grinning at the camera. Derek looks just shy of his growth spurt – he's still a little boy, really, not a teen yet.

"That was our last Christmas before…" Derek gives her a knowing look without repeating the words in front of their children. She nods; she realized it already, but recognizes that he needed to say it. It twists her heart a bit to be reminded just how young he was when he lost his father. _Thirteen_ could be anything, really: it's a teenager. But the boy in the photograph with his eager smile and sleep-rumpled hair is young. Innocent.

It feels unfair.

Her gaze falls on the littlest Shepherd. Amy is half blurred – "she never stood still for the camera," Derek notes with a shake of his head. Meredith can see the outline of ruffled pajamas and one very clear bunny slipper.

Five years old.

Meredith holds her own children a little closer, and Derek wraps an arm around her in response.

"That's your daddy, right?" Zola points to Derek's father. Her tone is innocent, the tragedy lost on her, and Meredith is glad about that. She can tell from Derek's expression that he's glad too.

"Yes, that's him." Derek smiles at his daughter.

"What's he looking at?" Zola asks, perceptive as always, and Derek chuckles – she's right; his father has his arm around his mother and a hand resting on his son's shoulder but his gaze is slightly off.

"He's looking at the camera, Zozo. He used to set it on a timer, and we'd wait for it to go off – he never quite believed it would work."

"Ohhh." Zola studies the picture again. "Did it? Work, I mean."

"It did." Derek drops a kiss on the top of her head. "It worked every time."

…

They ready the children for bed – Bailey wakes briefly when they undress him, whimpering, but falls almost immediately back to sleep once he's dressed in his Christmas pajamas.

Derek does a cursory wipe of his son's face with a damp washcloth, in the little blue-on-blue tiled bathroom that hasn't changed at all since his last visit, but can't bring himself to do much more when Bailey is so clearly exhausted.

Zola brushes her teeth with enthusiasm – her pink toothbrush has made it to Connecticut, along with a tube of her favorite toothpaste – while Meredith, who feels about as awake as her son, brushes her own teeth behind her.

With far less enthusiasm.

She's starting to worry that Zola will be too overtired to sleep, too excited from the travel and meeting her grandmother and the rather large mug of hot chocolate she consumed, but Zola turns after one last rinse of her mouth and wraps her arms around her mother's waist, burrowing sleepily against her like she used to when she was small.

"Bedtime," Meredith observes, and feels Zola nodding against her.

…

"Derek," Meredith whispers, sounding like she's fighting a smile. "About those toddler beds…"

He presses his hand to his mouth to keep from laughing – not that he should worry about their children, who are notoriously heavy sleepers. Bailey is passed out on top of Meredith like a small, red and green striped quilt. Zola is stretched out between her parents, taking up far more room than an objectively small girl should be able to.

… and it's a twin bed.

"We could move them," Derek suggests.

"We could," Meredith agrees.

"But don't."

He hears a rustling of the covers – the ancient corduroy comforter that's been on his bed for as long as he can remember – and then Meredith's small hand is in his. Her fingers are delicate but sure – and chilled; he rubs them between his to warm them.

"Mer," he murmurs.

But all he hears in response is his children's deep, steady breathing.

And one loud snore.

…

"Daddy … _Daddy_."

He rouses with a start at the panicked whisper, pulling his daughter into his arms before he's fully awake, prepared to comfort her from a nightmare.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

But Zola sits up, leaning over him. "Is it Christmas?" she asks urgently.

Derek can't help smiling. "Not yet, Zozo."

"Is it Christmas Eve?"

"Tomorrow's Christmas Eve."

"So is today Christmas Eve _Eve_?" she asks.

"Yes. You could say that."

"Christmas Eve Eve," Zola muses.

"Zo …"

"Yeah?"

"It's very early, sweetie."

"Nuh-uh." Zola points at the baseball-shaped clock on the wall, illuminated by the nightlight and the weak morning sun. "The little hand is on the seven."

Derek sits half up on his elbows. "Here in Connecticut, yet. At home in Seattle … the little hand is still on the four."

"But we're in Connecticut."

Derek rubs his eyes. He can't exactly argue with that. "Can I convince you to sleep a little more?"

He's not going to say _bribe_ , not out loud, but …

Zola looks unconvinced, but lets him draw her back down and cuddle her.

"Mommy's snoring," Zola observes.

"I know." Derek puts a finger to his lips. "She and Bailey are sleeping."

 _And I want to be sleeping, too_.

"Try to sleep a little more," he urges his daughter. Her warm little body is putting _him_ to sleep, and he's pretty sure she falls asleep just as he does.

…

"Derek. _Derek._ "

For the second time that morning, he wakes half up and reaches out a comforting arm.

And doesn't feel anything.

He's confused. He pries his eyes open to see Meredith leaning over the bed; Bailey still sleeping on the mattress next to his father. "Derek … where's Zola?"

Now he's awake. He sits up, rubbing his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"She's not here."

"Okay." Derek looks around the room, not sure why – it's a small room, not even small Zola could hide in here.

"You think she wandered off? Derek, it's freezing outside, did you –"

"Okay, calm down." He swings his legs over the side of the bed. "I really don't think she left the house. Let me just ... "

Just then, they hear a crash.

A recognizable crash.

Pans on the stove. And then a child's laugh.

The sound floats up the stairs – no, through the heating vent.

"My room is over the kitchen," Derek says, smiling at Meredith. "And it sounds like Zola found someone as awake as she is."

Meredith exhales. "She's with your mother."

"That, or Santa Claus."

"Can you …"

"I'll go check."

…

He toes into the old leather moccasins that are still on the carpet by the bed and makes his way down the stairs.

And then he pauses before entering the kitchen, taking in the scene before him.

Zola is standing on the wooden stepstool he's seen countless Shepherd grandchildren use, wearing a pink ruffled apron he has a feeling was a pre-Christmas gift, and stirring something in a heavy blue ceramic bowl. The air in the kitchen is warm, and it smells sweet and crisp – like pancakes. His mother is saying something to his daughter that makes her laugh, and then the floor creaks and they both look up.

"Daddy!"

Zola beams at him. There's a dusting of flour on her little nose.

"Grandma and I are making breakfast," she says happily.

"I can see that." He kisses the top of her head, then leans over and kisses his mother's cheek. "I hope she didn't wake you."

"You know I'm an early riser," his mother scolds. "And if she had … that would be fine too."

No one ever accused his mother of _not_ spoiling her grandchildren.

"I like your apron, Zozo."

"Grandma gave it to me," Zola beams. "See, it protects my pajamas!"

"That's great. Did you say thank you?"

"Of course I did," Zola replies, sounding vaguely affronted. "Right, Grandma?"

"She certainly did. Zola has lovely manners." His mother reaches up to pat his cheek. "You and Meredith have done a wonderful job," she says quietly.

For some reason his throat feels thick.

His mother coughs slightly, then gestures toward the counter. "Coffee, dear? I brewed a pot."

"Thanks."

…

"Zola's okay?" Meredith asks as soon as he pushes open the door to his old room.

"Zola is more than okay. Zola is making pancakes with my mother."

Meredith smiles. "Crack Grandma," she reminds him.

"Speaking of crack …" He holds out the mug of coffee he's brought her, in a lumpy red and white mug he's pretty sure Nancy made at camp.

"I love you," she says gratefully.

"Not just because of the coffee, right?"

She pretends to consider it, then hastily shakes her head when he pretends to move the coffee out of her grasp.

"Mmm … I needed this." She sits cross-legged on his old bed next to their sleeping son, sipping coffee. "Derek …"

"Yeah?"

"Are these pajamas pretty much the only things we have to wear?"

Derek looks from his striped pajamas to Meredith's to Bailey's. "I think there might be one more t-shirt in the blue bag." He pauses. "Is that okay?"

"As long as we don't leave the house."

"Your daughter wants to build a snowman," he reminds her.

" _My_ daughter." Meredith sets down the mug and shakes her head at him.

"Yes." Derek grins at her. "And _your_ son is apparently going to sleep all day."

"What about _your_ children?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Maybe the next one will be mine."

"What next one?" Now her eyebrows are really raised.

"It's just an expression," he says hurriedly.

The pancake aroma from downstairs is getting stronger, and he's not surprised when he hears Zola calling them.

"Sounds like breakfast is ready."

…

Bailey perks up halfway down the stairs, lifting his head from his father's shoulder. "Cookie," he says, voice still husky from sleep.

"It smells a little like cookies, doesn't it? Zozo made us pancakes," Derek tells his son as he carries him into the kitchen.

"Good morning," Derek's mother says with a smile, turning to them and brushing her flour-dusted hands off on her own apron.

"Mommy, look!" Zola gestures excitedly for Meredith to see what she made.

"Is that Santa Claus?" Meredith looks impressed.

"Yeah! Grandma showed me how to do pancake shapes. This one's for Bailey. And look!" Zola points at a large pancake that's really three circles, a smaller one, then a larger one, and finally …

"It's a snowman! That one's for me."

Meredith heaps praise on the pancakes while Derek sets Bailey in the high chair – his mother always has a high chair – and helps her carry dishes to the table.

Derek's gaze falls on the thermometer that sits outside the kitchen window.

"Cold out there. I guess the snow isn't going to be melting."

"No, I don't think so. But the roads are clear, for the most part – Kathleen called this morning." His mother smiles. "She says hello, and they're not coming over right away. They want to give you a chance to settle in."

Derek nods.

"But she did say you might need to shop for some … clothes." He sees his mother look at their four identical sets of Christmas pajamas.

"Maybe just a few."

"I thought this afternoon we could go to the big shopping center out on Route 20," his mother says. She still says _big shopping center_ in the faintly disgusted tone of voice she's always used; his father has been gone for thirty years but his mother will always be the wife of a small business owner. But there's something else underneath it too.

"Santa Claus is there," his mother says quietly. "I thought the children might like to see him, though I'm sure they already have in Seattle."

He exchanges a quick glance with Meredith.

"We actually haven't gotten around to it."

"It's been a busy year," his mother allows.

"… right." Derek doesn't say _we've never gotten around to it._

They have their own Christmas traditions, and Zola has never been anything but delighted – and delightful – all through December. Still, here in snowy Connecticut he's starting to feel like maybe they've missed out.

A little.

"And after breakfast, we can build a snowman," Zola is chattering. "Right? You too, Daddy?"

"Right," Derek says after a nod from his mother. "We just need to find you some warm clothes."

Bailey suddenly perks up, joining the conversation, apparently having noticed that his chubby little hands have run out of pancake to spread on his face. "More cake," he demands.

"Please," Meredith prompts gently.

"More cake _please_ ," he repeats, then turns a toothy smile on this grandmother. "Fank you," he adds sweetly, and Derek can see his mother melt.

...

Breakfast finished, Zola re-charms his mother by helping her clear the breakfast dishes, and then …

"Snowman time!" Zola cries delightedly, then pauses. "Right?"

"Right." Derek looks at the thermometer again. "You need to bundle up."

His mother gives him a knowing nod and the next thing he knows, they're in the basement at the metal shelving holding the same Tupperware tubs where his mother has always organized hand-me-downs.

"Wow," Zola says, sounding impressed, "do you have a store, Grandma?"

" _You_ just have a lot of cousins," she tells Zola with a smile. "Now. Let's see what we can find for you."

They sift through some labeled tubs until his mother locates a lavender snowsuit, a pair of knee-high neon pink boots, and waterproof gloves with –

"They change _color_ ," Zola breathes with joy. "Daddy, _look_."

"Weren't those banned in the eighties?" he asks his mother under his breath, only half joking.

"Nonsense." She closes the tub decisively.

"Oh, one more thing." She pulls out a knitted hat with red and green snowflakes on it – he can tell from the stitching how warm it is.

"That's pretty," Zola says admiringly.

"Thank you, sweetheart. I made it," Carolyn tells her.

"Really?" Zola's eyes widen. "Can you teach me how?"

"I would absolutely love to," she says. Derek sees her eyes shimmering a little.

…

"Daddy …" Zola tugs on his hand as he zips up her jacket.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"You sure Santa can find us here?" Zola asks doubtfully.

"I'm positive," he tells her firmly. "He found me here every year," Derek reminds her with a smile.

"But you lived here, Daddy," Zola reminds him. "Santa's gonna look for _me_ in Seattle."

"Santa knows where you are, just like he knows if you've been good." He can't quite bring himself to say _bad or good._ She might be good, or very good, but how could his sweet little girl be _bad_?

"Oh." Zola considers this. "But _how_ does he know?"

Derek lifts her into his arms for a hug. "He just knows."

Meredith approaches with a warmly wrapped, giggling Bailey on her hip.

"Snowman time?"

He looks out at the snow-covered lawn through the foggy windows.

"Snowman time."

Zola claps her gloved hands.

"Hang on, sweetie." Meredith pauses to do the double-zip on Zola's coat.

She holds her arms out. "I'm gonna tip over," she moans. "I have _too_ many coats."

Bailey is stamping experimentally in his little red quilted snow boots.

Finally, they push open the door and step outside.

It's a new world from the night before.

The sun is shining on the piles and piles of white, sparkling like diamonds. And the snow is everywhere, piled in drifts as high as Zola's head, dotted with bootprints in places but mostly pristine.

The sky is so blue it almost hurts, and he watches Zola shades her eyes with one thickly gloved hand as she surveys her new territory.

The air is sharp and cold, the pine trees fragrant. It smells like Christmas, like east coast winters he remembers, but also like something new. Like he's seeing it again for the first time.

Zola sums it up for him with just one well-chosen word: " _Wow._ "

He couldn't have said it better himself.

* * *

 _Snowman time! Okay, this chapter may be shameless fluff, and this story may be a fluff monster, but I'm still me, so there's a little angst coming. Don't worry - it will all work out in the end. Santa wouldn't have it any other way. Thank you so much for reading, and please review! Reviews are like year-round Christmas gifts. :)_


	7. Two Days to Christmas, Part II

_**A/N: Thank you so much for all the great reviews on this story! I'm loving extending that Christmassy goodness into grey January (or rather making it Grey January? Ha). This one goes out to Patient Patsy, queen of the regular reviewers. It's an extra long, double-wide, juicy chapter and I hope you enjoy it!**_

* * *

 ** _Unto Certain Shepherds_  
Chapter 7: Two Days to Christmas, Part II**

...

* * *

"What do you think, Mommy?"

Visible puffs of cold air accompany Zola's words.

Meredith looks at her daughter's hopeful eyes, her wide smile, and her very mittened hands gesturing toward a _very_ bedecked snowman.

"You did a great job," Meredith says truthfully, admiring the bright green hat and thick carrot nose. "He's perfect."

"It's a she," Zola corrects. "See?"

Meredith has no idea where she's pointing, and finds herself having to hide a laugh when Derek raises a slightly snowy eyebrow.

"Sorry, snow _woman_ ," Meredith corrects. " _She_ is perfect. And she is made of snow … but you're not. Aren't you cold, Zozo?"

"Nope," Zola says serenely, taking a step back in her oversized boots to study her snowman.

Sorry – snow _woman_.

"Nope," Bailey repeats happily, fixing Meredith with a firm look. Then he wraps his little arms around himself. "Too cold!" he bellows.

Derek scoops him up. "Way to play both sides, buddy." He holds him close for warmth. "Hey, Zozo, I think it's time for all non-snowpeople to come inside and warm up."

"Why?" Zola turns a disappointed face to her father.

"So your toes don't fall off."

"Why would my toes fall off?" Zola looks alarmed, turning from Derek to Meredith.

"What Daddy means," Meredith corrects, shaking her head at him, amused, "is that your toes would get really cold, and then …"

"And then what?"

"And then it would hurt." Meredith holds out a hand to her daughter. "Come inside, sweetie, and we can talk about the technicalities of frostbite later."

"But I love playing in the snow," Zola protests, _almost_ managing the whole sentence without her teeth chattering. Now that the aerobic activity of building her snowman –

snow _woman_ –

has ended, she's apparently feeling the chill.

Meredith and Derek exchange a glance.

"You know what, Zozo?" Derek glances toward the chill-frosted windows of his childhood home. "If I know Grandma, she's already made some hot chocolate for us."

No more needs to be said.

Carolyn has, indeed, made hot chocolate – Derek smells it the moment they step over the threshold into the mudroom, stamping their feet to get the snow off.

(Zola participates delightedly, Bailey a bit _too_ enthusiastically).

Inside it's warm, almost steamy, and his cheeks and nose sting as they warm up. Together he and Meredith take on the Herculean of unwinding, unwrapping, and un-winterizing two wriggly warm little bodies. Zola helps a little, though she keeps turning toward the source of the glorious chocolatey smell and sighing with pleasure. Bailey has to be more or less restrained and kicks off one of his socks before Derek can stop him, then shrieks when his little toes come into contact with some melting ice.

But before long, and without too many tears, they are warm and dry and sitting at the old scuffed wooden table where Derek spent so many meals as a child.

"More," Bailey says immediately, taking a careful sip of the small amount of cooled hot chocolate in his sippy cup.

"You haven't finished what you have, sweetie," Meredith points out.

Bailey bangs his sippy cup for emphasis. "More!"

"He just means he likes it," Zola says logically. She spoons out a marshmallow. "Grandma – this is so super duper yummy."

"That is high praise."

"It's even better than deep dish pizza," Zola says, sounding thoughtful.

"Deep dish pizza? Oh, my." Carolyn smiles at her granddaughter, then turns to Derek with a raised eyebrow. "What have you been feeding this child?"

"It's 'cause we had to live in Chicago," Zola explains.

"For one night," Derek amends quickly.

"Yeah, one night." Slowly, lovingly, Zola slurps the last of her mostly-melted marshmallow. "I like Florida better," she says.

"You certainly had quite the tour coming here," Carolyn observes.

"Uh-huh." Carefully, Zola spoons out another mouthful of hot chocolate, then beams at her grandmother. "But so far I like Connecticut best of all."

Derek sees his mother's eyes go misty, but his daughter is all business after her characteristic sweetness.

"Can I have another marshmallow?" she asks. "Please?"

Carolyn glances to Meredith and Derek for sign-off. "One more," Meredith concedes. "It's Christmas, after all."

Derek looks from their mugs of hot chocolate – not matching, never matching, all of them Christmas-y in some way and most of them made by Shepherd children over the years – to the mounting snow outside the window and the oversized wreath he can see through the glass of the back door window.

"It's definitely Christmas," he agrees.

Carolyn looks to Derek and Meredith for approval as she starts to talk – they both nod, recognizing where she's going.

"Zola, and Bailey," Carolyn begins, "we were thinking that after you're all dried off and warmed up, we'd head outside again –"

"And build another snowman?" Zola asks eagerly.

"No, this time we'll head to the shopping center, where you can get some clothes, since I know yours are still at the airport…"

"Oh." Zola seems to be working hard to keep her little face in a polite smile. "Okay," she says warily.

" … and while we're there, we can see Santa," his mother says casually.

Zola's eyes widen. "Santa? The _real_ Santa?"

Derek feels Meredith's small shoeless foot kicking him under the table.

"The real Santa," Carolyn confirms smoothly, "of course. I take all my grandchildren there to see him, and now that you and your brother are here, Grandma would _love_ to bring you to see Santa too."

While Meredith wears a groove in Derek's shin, Zola bounces excitedly in her seat.

"Can I go?" She turns her parents, eyes wide and impossibly long-lashed.

"And your mother and father too, of course, darling." Carolyn smiles at Zola.

"Please?" Zola clasps her hands together and, when Derek and Meredith nod slowly in unison, Zola shrieks with joy.

She jumps off her chair and throws her arms impulsively around her grandmother. Bailey isn't quite sure what's happening, but trusts his big sister enough to howl gleefully in harmony. Derek watches his mother hug Zola back, looking a little misty-eyed again, and he finds his own eyes have a bit of mist as well.

Must be the cold, dry New England air.

…

Getting the children dressed to go see Santa when their luggage is still _in abeyance_ – Derek has been checking regularly – is rather complicated.

In the Shepherds' case, it means going back through the boxes of clothes in the basement.

With a quick detour on the way, in the living room, when Zola spots a baby picture of Derek.

"Look how _teeny_ you are, Daddy," she beams.

Carolyn looks fondly at the picture. "That was right after we moved into this house," she tells Zola.

"You lived here when you were a baby?"

Derek nods. "We moved here right before I was born. This is the only house I lived in until I went to college."

"Wow." Zola takes it in.

Carolyn's gaze is sentimental. "It seems like just yesterday that you five were running around, always underfoot, playing catch in the house and hide and seek …. Well. It was a long time ago."

Derek rests a hand on Zola's head. "Not that long ago," he tells his mother quietly. "I remember hiding under that chair." He points to the wing chair his father always sat in when the family gathered.

Together, the Shepherds squint at the tiny space.

"Not for long," Derek clarifies. "We had some good spots in here. Behind the china cabinet – well, until Mom caught wind and chased us around with the – "

"Derek," Carolyn frowns.

" – broom," he continues faintly.

Derek sees Meredith fighting a smile.

"And in the drapes." He points to the heavy velvet-ish curtains, patchy in places, protecting the living room from the glaring wintry sun. "We'd hide in there and then we'd come out dusty and Mom would send us back in … to dust."

"Don't listen to a word he says," Carolyn advises Meredith, shaking her head, "you'd think I had them doing chores all the time."

"She didn't," Derek assures Meredith. "I'm not saying she didn't _want_ us to…"

Carolyn shakes her head but can't seem to help smiling. "Do you want to find clothes for today, son, or not?" she asks.

He does.

So down to the basement they go.

Derek stands back, hands on hips, surveying the neatly labeled containers.

"Mom, I can't believe how much you still have."

"I give plenty away," Carolyn points out, a little defensively, "but for so long my girls kept having more babies, and someone always fit into everything. And now that Cassie's pregnant – "

"Cassie's _pregnant_?" Derek stares, the image of his teenaged niece emblazoned in his mind. He can call Cassie to mind easily – she was obsessed with field hockey, and liked to French braid her little sisters' and cousins' hair. Pregnant?

"She's 26," Carolyn says mildly, "and she was married last year."

Derek blinks. Married? But –

"They didn't have a wedding," she says quickly. "Not a real one; a quick civil ceremony and then they backpacked in Asia for three months."

Derek can tell from his mother's tone of voice that she considers this both unorthodox and also rather appealing.

"Pregnant," he repeats. "Cassie."

"It's been a while," his mother says gently. "She'll be here for Christmas, and her husband too, you can meet him. He's a sweetheart."

"Good. Okay." Derek nods slowly, taking in the new information. With fourteen nieces and nephews, keeping up with them would be another full time job. Still, he just assumed he'd know about big things.

"So Cassie's going to have a baby," he repeats.

His mother nods.

"And you're saving this … California Raisins sweatshirt for the baby?"

Carolyn looks like she's stifling laughter; Meredith is doing a slightly better – but not terrific – job of it herself.

The sweatshirt is bright green with three giant, wrinkled, beaming grapes, all wearing oversized sunglasses.

"You know I don't follow all these … fashion trends," his mother says with dignity.

"Fashion trends," Derek repeats, amused, "this is more like a piece of history. Do you have one with _Dewey Defeats Truman_?"

"Very amusing." Carolyn shakes her head, smiling, then turns to Meredith. "You see what happens, you start out with a sweet little baby boy and before long …"

"Before long!" Derek laughs in spite of himself. "That's flattering, Mom, but my babyhood was half a century ago."

"Don't remind me," Carolyn says primly. "Now. This should fit Bailey – "

" _Mine_ ," Bailey announces happily, grabbing for the sweatshirt.

"-and for Zola, maybe this one?" Carolyn pulls out a neon pink dress with a turquoise net tutu for a skirt.

"Ooh!" Zola's eyes brighten.

"This was one of your cousin Cassie's favorites," Carolyn says fondly.

"Twenty years ago," Derek supplies helpfully and his mother frowns at him in such a way that Derek is fairly certain, were there a newspaper nearby, he would have ended up swatted with it.

"It's really pretty," Zola says, beaming. "Grandma, you have a _lot_ of pink stuff."

"I have a lot of daughters and granddaughters," Carolyn tells her with a smile. "Aren't I lucky?"

…

"Ready?"

His mother's voice echoes up the long staircase.

Derek turns to Meredith. "Are we ready?"

"Well … that depends. Our children look like they time-traveled here from 1993, and I'm wearing what I'm pretty sure is your baseball uniform from sixth grade."

"Seventh grade," Derek says with dignity, "and it's a good color for you."

"It's grey."

"Like I said."

Meredith can't seem to hide a smile. The shirt does look good on her, whether she wants to admit it or not – it's been washed over the last four decades to heathered vintage softness and clings to her in all the right places … certainly not the way he recalls it fitting. But he may never think of it the same way again.

"At least I had a spare pair of jeans," she notes ruefully, "so I didn't end up with parachute pants."

"Don't say that too loudly … my mother probably has some in the basement."

Meredith's smile-hiding is getting even worse.

"What?" he asks suspiciously, glancing down at his own outfit. He threw his still-damp jeans into the dryer, thankfully, and his mother dug up a sweatshirt that fits fine, even if it smells a bit like the lavender sachets she'd stuff into the old storage boxes.

"Nothing," Meredith assures him. "What exactly are the … _West Weatherford Geese_?"

"My sister's lacrosse team," Derek says with dignity.

"Ah. I guess that explains why it says _Honk if you love LAX_ on the back," Meredith says thoughtfully, then has to duck out of the way when Derek makes a grab for her.

"Dogpile!" Zola cries happily when Derek tackles her mother to the narrow bed they all shared last night.

Running a bit carefully in her pink and aqua tutu, she launches herself onto the bed too. Bailey is last to join them, his matching green sweatshirt and leggings a little long but mostly fitting.

…

" _Now_ we're ready," Derek announces as the four of them descend the stairs, a little breathless and rumpled.

"Don't you look nice," his mother murmurs. When Derek gets to the bottom of the staircase, she takes him aside. "Our first stop should probably be clothes, then?"

"Probably," he agrees.

And then it's a systematic process of bundling everyone, from children to adults, into layer after layer to protect against the winter chill.

"It takes a _long_ time to get ready here," Zola observes as Meredith winds a scarf around her neck.

She's not wrong.

Finally, they're all bundled and trekking in boots across the snow-covered flagstones that lead to the large driveway. "The boys dug me out," his mother says with appreciation.

"I'll drive," Derek offers, sizing up the four-wheel drive sitting in front of them, grateful that his mother has moved on from his childhood of station wagons with chains on the tires.

"You remember how to drive in the snow?"

"Sure. It's like riding a bicycle … in the snow." Derek opens the door, then turns back to Meredith. "What about …"

"Oh, Nancy put carseats in the back already," Carolyn says airily. "Well. A carseat for Bailey and a booster for Zola. Will that work?"

"… that will work," Derek says faintly. "You really do think of everything."

"Not my first time." His mother opens the passenger side. "You sit in the front seat, dear," she directs Meredith.

"Oh, no, that's fine," Meredith says quickly. "I can sit between the kids – you sit in front."

"Now, you get to see them all the time. I have to soak up this visit," his mother counters, smiling. "You sit in front and I'll sit between them."

Derek sees Meredith's uncertainty. The middle seat between the carseat and booster looks … hard to get to, from here, and rather narrow. His mother is not particularly narrow – nor young – but somehow without any fuss at all she's in the car, between the seats, with a satisfied expression.

"See?"

"I want to sit next to Grandma!" Zola cries happily – which is convenient, since she has no real choice, but his mother looks thrilled at her words anyway.

"Crack Grandma," Meredith murmurs to Derek as she fastens the passenger side seatbelt, and he kisses what he can reach of her face.

…

"Where's Santa?" Zola asks eagerly once they've made it to the shopping center – _ooh_ ing and _aah_ ing along the way at the snow-dusted trees.

"He's inside." Carolyn holds out a hand to her granddaughter and Derek can't help smiling watching the two of them walk ahead, Zola's brightly colored tutu dress bobbing with each step.

He carries Bailey through the parking lot – which does not thrill his son, who reacts much like a trapped raccoon – and finally sets him down when they're away from cars, taking his little hand firmly. "It's busy in here, buddy, so you need to stay close to Daddy."

"Okay," Bailey says cheerfully, yanking his hand away and dashing along the covered path leading to the shopping center.

"Yeah, that's not what _okay_ means," Derek tells his son once he's chased him down and scooped him back up. "Hey, Mer…"

Meredith, who's been walking with Zola and Carolyn, turns back.

"Those toddler reins don't seem like such a bad idea right now."

She laughs, then comes back to help. "Bailey … stay close, sweetie," she reminds him.

"No, no, no," he chants, confusingly, taking one of each of their hands and strolling contentedly between both parents.

"I'll take it," Derek says.

The shopping center's entrance is laced with holly, two giant wreaths, and sparkling lights.

 _Merry Christmas to All_

Zola reads the words out loud. "And to all a good night!" she adds.

"No!" Bailey protests.

"It's not really bedtime, don't worry." Meredith sounds amused.

"Zola, you read so nicely," Carolyn praises her.

"Reading is fun," Zola says. "I can read to you later," she offers, and Derek has to hide a smile.

"I would love that," Carolyn says sincerely. "Grandma's eyes get more tired these days."

"I think the question is," Derek murmurs to Meredith, holding her back for a moment as Carolyn and Zola walk ahead, "whether we're dealing with Crack Grandma or Crack Grandkid."

"Why pick one?"

"Good point."

The Christmas spirit is alive and well inside the center, with last-minute shoppers bustling around laden with bags, holiday carols playing through cheerfully tinny speakers, and the warm scents of gingerbread and hot chocolate in the air.

"Okay." Derek glances at his mother. "First stop – " he scans the board, hoping they can quickly pick up some items to wear until their suitcases arrive.

"Daddy!" Zola shrieks. " _Look!"_

He sees where she's pointing – a hand-painted sign in bright red letters on white wood:

"Santa's village, _this way_ ," Zola reads. She bounces excitedly on her toes. "We have to go there!"

Wordlessly, the three adults decide it would be foolish to make the children wait, and decide to postpone the shopping until after Santa.

"Bailey," Zola says importantly, leaning down to look her brother in the eye. "We're going to see _Santa._ "

"Santa," he repeats.

"The _real Santa_ ," Zola clarifies, patting his hand. "Okay, we're ready!" she announces when she's standing back up again, and the five Shepherds head toward Santa's village.

…

(When they're retelling this story – and it already has the flavor of a story that will retold over and over, like the time a young Elizabeth told her teacher that her mother, who never went anywhere without a mug of coffee, was always drinking while she drove the car – Derek thinks they'll probably start here):

"Santa!" Zola cries as they approach the cheerily labeled _Santa's Village._

"It's not the real North Pole," Zola explains to her brother quickly. "That's really far away, but Santa has other villages. Right, Mommy?"

Meredith glances at Derek.

"Right, Zo," she says after a moment.

"I can't wait to meet Santa," Zola sighs happily.

(Okay, fine. They might start here instead):

" _No Santa! No, no, no! NO SANTA!_ "

A line two dozen deep of Connecticut children and their parents turn around to see a small blond boy in a bright green California Raisins sweatshirt screaming full throttle, both hands fisted and cheeks bright red with rage.

Meredith is blushing almost as deeply. "It's okay, sweetie," she coos, shooting Derek a look of combined surprise and concern.

"Bailey, why are you crying?" Zola asks, sympathetically but not particularly helpfully, because Bailey's face turns even redder if possible.

" _Not crying!"_ he shrieks, tears pouring down his flushed face.

"Okay, okay, you know what?" Derek takes Zola's hand. "Let's let Bailey calm down and we'll go get a place on line."

"Thanks," Meredith says semi-sarcastically.

"I'll take him if you want," Derek offers, but when he reaches for Bailey his son writhes angrily and clings to Meredith like she's a life raft.

"You go with Zo," Meredith says, "and take your mom so she can see too. I think Bailey just needs a minute."

As if in response to his mother's optimistic prediction, Bailey throws his head back and howls like a small blond werewolf.

" _No Santa!"_

Zola watches with interest while her mother carries her sobbing brother away from Santa's village. One hand in Derek's and one in Carolyn's, she approaches the line.

The setup is modest, but festive, with Santa in a large tinsel wrapped chair on a podium bedecked with white felt "snow." A few elves are scattered around with bell-tipped shoes, escorting children one by one to Santa and then helping them off the other side while eager parents snap pictures and those still waiting on line count the moment until it's their turn.

From the speakers feet from Santa's black boots, _Joy to the World_ pipes out into the crowd.

Zola takes in the scene, then turns to her father. "How come Bailey's mad?"

"I think he's just a little scared, sweetie."

"Why? Santa's not scary. He's nice."

Derek strokes the top of her head. "You're a little older than your brother, Zo, so some things that scare him don't scare you."

"Oh." She considers this. "But, Daddy, Grandma says Santa sees all the kids here at the shopping center and finds out what they want for Christmas."

He nods.

"If Bailey is too scared to see Santa, does that mean he won't get any Christmas presents?"

"Definitely not," Derek assures her.

 _But if all our luggage stays in abeyance, we have a very different – but very big – Christmas present problem anyway._

"Okay." Zola looks relieved.

A woman standing in front of Derek on line with twins who look about Zola's age turns around with a smile. "Mine were scared at your son's age too," she tells Derek. "Then the next year, they couldn't climb on his lap fast enough."

Zola studies the children in front of her with shy interest.

"Hi," the girl twin says to Zola. "I like your ballerina costume."

"Thanks." Zola glances down at her tutu. "I think it's just a regular dress, though."

"Oh."

"My grandma likes pink," Zola explains, and the other girl nods as if that makes perfect sense.

As the line slowly decreases, Zola shifts from foot to foot anxiously.

"Zo?" Derek crouches down a little to preserve her dignity. "Do you need the bathroom? We can come right back here afterwards," he assures her.

She shakes her head. "I just want Bailey to get here before it's our turn."

A sudden, floor-shaking shriek cuts through the crowd.

"You know what, sweetie, Bailey may stay away from Santa's village this time."

"Oh." Zola looks disappointed. "Maybe I should stay away too."

"Don't you want to see Santa?" Carolyn asks.

"I do, but I want Bailey to see him too."

Despite the impracticality, he's touched.

"Okay, Zozo, I'll tell you what. You wait with Grandma and I'll see if I can help Mommy convince Bailey to join us."

Zola rewards him with a cheek splitting grin.

Derek finds his wife and son standing outside the window of a toy store with a giant gumball machine in the display. Bailey is quiet when he gets there, one arm wrapped possessively around Meredith and the other pointing to … a giant clown.

A giant clown moving forward and back in the window, with a white painted face, a leering red smile, and bottomless black eyes.

The stuff of horror movies.

" _That_ he likes?" Derek whispers to Meredith. "But S-a-n-t-a is too much?"

She gives him a rueful look. "Just don't say the whole word," she warns him. "It seems to set him off."

"Ah." He reaches out to rub his son's back. "Zola wants him there with her."

"I know." Meredith strokes Bailey's mussed blond hair. "But I don't think it's in the cards this year."

Derek studies his son's tear-streaked face. He looks calmer, one hand clutching his frog-headed plush blanket and the other fisted in his mother's hair.

"You go, Derek, it's fine," Meredith assures him. "Your mother wants to see Zola with – _you know who_ , and you should go too. Just take some pictures."

"Okay." He pauses. "Are you sure?"

"No," Meredith admits, "but Bailey is."

"Fair enough."

Zola's little face broadcasts disappointment when he returns to the line. "Bailey's not coming?"

"Not this time, sweetie." Derek rests a hand on her shoulder. "But I think if you go talk to Santa, and you have a good time, that will help Bailey be ready next year."

"I wanna come back to _this_ Santa next year," Zola says immediately.

"We will," Derek says automatically, without thinking.

 _Crack_ , he thinks. It's the crack talking.

The line moves with impressive efficiency, and before long they're next. Zola is bouncing impatiently on her toes. "Daddy … it's almost our turn!"

And then it _is_ her turn, an elf arriving to escort her. Derek waits carefully – Zola can be shy around strangers – but she gives her father and grandmother a wave and slips her hand easily into the elf's.

Derek and Carolyn approach Santa's podium while giving Zola space, Derek remembering to snap a few pictures for Meredith.

They watch as Zola climbs willingly onto Santa's knee. They can't quite make out the words, with _Silver Bells_ blaring from the speakers, but based on Zola's expression and the way she adjusts her bright pink and blue tutu, it looks like Santa is complimenting her outfit.

And then they're deep in conversation, Derek not able to hear anything except a loud, booming, cheerful _ho, ho, ho_.

And then another ho, ho …

No, it's zo, zo.

Or rather "Zozo!"

Bailey is calling her name with a combined panic and excitement, and Derek turns with surprise to see Meredith approaching with their son on her hip. She shrugs at his expression, and he recognizes it as the sort of _what can you do_ that they often find themselves expressing about their toddlers. Bailey, after all, has been known to shriek like he's being decapitated when they put on a pair of shoes on a Monday, and laugh with joy at the same pair of shoes on a Tuesday. He's nothing if not mercurial.

Carefully, Derek approaches. "Hey, buddy, you see your sister up there?"

Bailey nods happily. "Zozo," he repeats. He reaches out a hand to Derek, who lifts him into his arms. Meredith gives him a smile of relief – which he understands; holding an unmoving, uncooperative Bailey for long stretches can be a major bicep workout.

Carolyn beams at both of them. "I'm so glad he made it back," she says warmly.

Up on the podium, Zola is still deep in conversation with Santa Claus. Then they watch as she says something to him that makes him comb his hand throw his beard thoughtfully. He responds, and Zola seems to be taking it in.

"Sir?"

Derek glances up to see an elf at their side.

Well.

A local teenager with an appropriately turned-up nose wearing an elf costume, anyway.

"Does the little one want to go next?"

Derek considers this. Bailey is sitting contentedly in his arms now, watching Zola.

"Bailey," he asks tentatively, "do you want to go up there like Zola?"

He points.

Bailey nods. "I go."

"Right. You can go next."

Meredith, Derek, and Carolyn exchange a three-way glance that's the visual equivalent of a shrug.

The elf nods. "Great."

Just then, Zola hops off Santa's lap, gives her parents and grandmother a wave, and takes another elf's hand to be escorted down the stairs.

"Your turn," the first elf tells Bailey.

Bailey beams.

"Are you ready to see – "

"No!" Derek and Meredith interject in unison, but it's too late.

" – Santa?"

For a moment they freeze, but the elf's word seems to crash down around them.

Bailey's sweet little face screws up in horror and he inhales deeply before shrieking at the top of his lungs.

" _No Santa!"_

This time, everyone on line for Santa and most of the shopping passersby turn to see the commotion. (In fact, Derek is fairly certain at this point that most of the eastern seaboard can hear his son.)

"Next year," they tell the elf hastily, Derek walking away to soothe Bailey while Meredith and Carolyn meet Zola at the foot of Santa's village.

" _NO SANTA! BAD SANTA!"_ Bailey is screaming, tears flowing once again, gripping Derek's neck like someone is trying to steal him.

"Okay, you're okay," Derek assures his son, moving as swiftly as he can from Santa's apparently terrifying village, patting Bailey's heaving little back as he does.

With distance, Bailey's sobs die down and he lifts his head from his father's shoulder. Fingers in his mouth, eyes still bright with tears, he sniffs loudly.

"Zozo?" he asks hopefully.

"Zozo's with Mommy and Grandma. They'll be back in a minute," he assures his son.

Looking only slightly mollified now, Bailey removes his fingers from his mouth. "Cookie?" he asks hopefully.

…

 _Cookie_ indeed. Once they're far away enough from _you know who_ for Bailey to return to his cheerful self, they purchase a gingerbread cookie approximately the size of Luxembourg for the children to share. Zola, beaming, is regaling her parents with stories of –

"Maybe just don't say his name," Meredith murmurs gently. "But tell us all about it."

"Okay," Zola says agreeably. "Well. He's really nice and he has a big beard like Uncle Mason. And he asked me what I wanted for Christmas."

"What did you tell him?"

Zola looks pensive. "It's kind of a secret."

"Oh." Derek and Meredith exchange a glance, both hoping _kind of a secret_ is one of the wrapped presents in their abeyance-held suitcases.

"What did S – I mean, your friend – say?"

"He said he would do his best, and _you never know_ ," Zola reports.

"Ah." Derek considers this, then pauses to munch a bite of gingerbread Bailey has just stuffed, without warning, into his mouth.

Zola leans back in her chair, crossing her legs in their bright pink leggings. "I can't believe I met the real Sa – I mean the real guy," she corrects herself quickly.

…

Sant – or rather, _that guy_ – combined with a giant cookie makes for a hard to beat excursion. While Bailey, exhausted from his north pole-related hysteria, sleeps in Derek's arms, Meredith, Zola, and Carolyn make a swift and efficient trip to the Family Barn to pick up essentials for the next few days.

And then, laden with packages, they're loading back into the car.

Zola glances into her brother's carseat. "Can I talk about the S Guy now? Since Bailey's sleeping?"

"Yes," Derek says automatically, leaning around Meredith's seat to back the car out.

"He's so cool," Zola sighs. "And he has elves, did you see them? They're really nice." She pauses. "Do you think I'll get the present I asked for?"

"I don't know, sweetie, because you didn't tell us what it was," Meredith responds mildly.

"Oh." Zola seems to be considering this. Then she brightens. "Grandma, do you have any Christmas carols on your radio?"

She does – or rather Connecticut, like the rest of the country, does – and they listen and sing along, off and on, for the duration of the ride home.

When they're bundled and loaded down with packages, including a sleeping Bailey, they make their careful way to the back door.

Which opens on its own.

Meredith is shocked; Carolyn seems only mildly interested.

"Kathleen!" she says cheerfully. "When did you get here?"

"Just a few minutes ago," she says. "Mason dropped us off so he can take Blake to the library to pick up something she needs for school."

Derek leans in to kiss his sister's cheek; she smiles at him and winces at his cold skin all at once. He's amused and not really surprised to note that Blake, the little girl he recalls as extremely serious about spelling bees, multiplication tables, and memorizing state capitals, is still a dedicated student.

Meredith is stuck on _us_ after a greeting from Derek's sister, but she doesn't have to wait long before they're swarmed.

By four children – teenagers – something like that – who bound into the kitchen like golden retrievers to greet their grandmother and uncle with enthusiasm.

"I'll take Bailey upstairs," Meredith offers as Derek attempts to hug one of his nieces without crushing their sleeping son.

Derek hands over the toddler while a teenager with a long dark ponytail kneels in front of Zola, _oo_ -ing over her tutu.

"I totally wore that when I was a kid," she's saying with a big smile, "but it looks, like, _way_ cuter on you."

Meredith tucks Bailey into the pack 'n' play that of course Carolyn has set up in the corner, turning on the baby monitor that of course Carolyn has set up on the bookshelf.

With five children and fourteen – no, now sixteen – grandchildren, Carolyn certainly has enough experience to know what's needed, when … and she's grateful.

( _Crack_ grateful)

…

Derek's concern that Zola would be overwhelmed by the crush of cousins – especially having just arrived from their shopping excursion and still wrapped in approximately fifty layers of winter gear – disappears quickly.

Kathy's children are delighted with their first little cousin and can't do enough for Zola. Shannon, the ponytail-haver who complimented his daughter's tutu, is the leader of the pack, telling Zola in a tone of reverence about all the toys still in the playroom from her own childhood. The other two girls – along with Kathleen's lone boy, Jackson – are just as eager, and once Derek has divested Zola of her coat and cold-weather accessories, she darts off happily in a sea of cousins to play.

Derek turns to see Carolyn watching with misty eyes, arms folded.

"Well. You won't have to worry about her anymore today," she says with a smile. "Oh, all the kids have been dying to meet her. They'll love Bailey too but they haven't had a little girl cousin to spoil since – well, since Kristen was small."

They brew coffee; Meredith, who traipses down after settling in a sleeping Bailey, takes a sip of Derek's and declines her own cup. Kathleen adds a generous spoonful of sugar to hers, glaring at Derek when he lifts an eyebrow, and then she and Meredith are chatting and he take sa moment to enjoy seeing his wife and sister engaged.

Derek offers Meredith another sip of his coffee when the conversation slows down and she shakes her head.

"Let's go sit inside," Carolyn suggests, and leads the way out of the kitchen.

"You don't have what Bailey had, do you?" Derek asks Meredith hesitantly as he carries his cup into the living room.

"Motion sickness? I hope not." Meredith smiles at him. "I think it's more likely to be the gallon of hot chocolate I had this morning."

They settle in around the Christmas tree on worn cushions, gazing at the stockings hung on the mantle. It's peaceful and lovely, and before long they're joined by one of Derek's dark-haired nieces.

"Courtney," she tells Meredith, giving her braces-laden smile. "Sorry I didn't see you before 'cause Zola was kind of distractingly cute."

"That's exactly how I would describe her," Meredith agrees.

Courtney settles on the rug, drawing her legs up under her. "Zola said she saw Santa today."

"That's right." Carolyn smiles fondly at her granddaughter. "The same Santa out on Route 20 you saw when you were small."

"I remember." Courtney pulls her dark braid around her shoulder, playing with the end of it. "Grandma," she says, rising to her knees, "I actually came out 'cause I wanted to ask if we could bake cookies with Zola. For Santa. The others are still playing."

"Of course you can. You know where everything is, darling."

"Yeah." Courtney smiles at the gathered adults. "You know … when Zola was telling us about seeing Santa, I kind of missed being little enough to go."

"Wait until Bailey wakes up," Derek advises, "and tells you what _he_ thought of Santa, and maybe it will change your mind."

"Was he scared?" Courtney's eyes widen.

Derek nods.

"But he can't have screamed as much as Michael did when – "

"More," Derek reports and Courtney sits back on her heels, chastened. "Wow."

"Actually," Derek adds, "speaking of … _Santa_ … the S-word is a bit of a trigger today, so we're trying to avoid it."

"Okay, okay." Courtney considers this. "S-word. Got it."

Meredith smiles at this teenager who is – whoa, apparently her niece – and then the gathered Shepherds are off on reminiscences of which grandchildren cried and which took to Santa – or rather S-word – right away.

"Actually," Courtney says, her tone reminiscent, "I remember going with Aunt Nancy and Joey but I can't remember the last time before that. Like when I still believed S-word was real, I mean."

Derek glances at Meredith. It's hard to believe that Courtney was once Zola's age, small and eager to believe, and that Zola will one day be a tall teenager reminiscing about her own childhood.

"You believed for a long time," Carolyn assures her. "I remember Cassie scolding the others to make sure they didn't give it away."

"I did?" Courtney glances at her mother. "Mom – how old was I when I found out S-word wasn't real?"

"I don't remember, honey. But not old enough," Kathleen says, smiling at her daughter.

A sudden rustling in the drapes catches the Shepherds' attention.

And then out of the heavy, swirling material steps a small girl with a confused, upset look on her face and dust on the edges of her bright pink and blue tutu.

"Zozo," Derek says quickly, his heart speeding up; he and Meredith exchange a nervous glance. He holds out an arm to his daughter, but she stays frozen in place.

" _S-word isn't real?_ " she asks with horror.

* * *

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED** and I won't be cruel enough to make you wait too long. I promise everything will work out in the end - it's Christmas after all - but things might just get a little hairy for a bit. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope you will review and let me know what you think! I love hearing your thoughts. Merry Endless McChristmas!_


	8. Two Days to Christmas, Part III

**_A/N: Write a five-part Christmas story, they said. It'll be fun, they said. Here we are in Chapter 8 and we're still two days away from Christmas. #winterproblems, amirite? Thanks for all your lovely feedback on the last chapter. I'm having so much fun writing this story and feeling Christmassy instead of grey-rainy-flu-season-y. I hope you enjoy this chapter!_**

* * *

 ** _Unto_ _Certain Shepherds_**

 **Chapter 8: Two Days to Christmas, Part III**

...

* * *

" _S-word isn't real?"_

For a moment after Zola's surprise appearance from behind the curtains – where Derek is currently wishing he never told his daughter used to be his favorite hiding spot as a child – the assembled Shepherds just fall silent.

It's only a moment, though, until Derek reaches toward Zola, whose lower lip is trembling. "Listen, Zozo – "

But Bailey chooses that moment to wake up from his nap, on the second floor of the house, loudly bellowing his dissatisfaction at being constrained to the pack 'n' play.

Kathleen winces at the sound; Meredith hastily mutes the baby monitor, exchanging a glance with Derek. It's a wordless exchange any parent with two children would understand: _you take this one, and I'll take that one._

While Meredith disappears up the stairs to get their son, Derek takes Zola aside, steering her gently away from his mother, sister, and niece, whose stricken expressions aren't exactly helping. He's not sure where he's going until he finds himself leading his daughter toward his own father's study.

Dad's study. They used the term semi-jokingly – Derek is pretty sure his sisters picked it up from the _Brady Bunch_. Derek's father wasn't an architect, but he did have plenty of paperwork to deal with from the family store. His parents would often work in the study together: going over the books, discussing issues in the industry, brainstorming ideas to drum up additional business.

"What's this room?" Zola asks curiously as he leads her in.

"This was my dad's study," Derek tells her. "Like an office," he adds, the term he and Meredith use at home.

"Where's his computer?"

Derek smiles at that. "There were no computers when my dad used this room."

"Really?" Zola's eyes widen. "Was it in the olden days?"

"Pretty much."

He looks around the room, seeing it through his daughter's eyes, from the scarred wood paneling to the rather dusty bookshelves to the long-limp shag rug on the floor. It's not a shrine exactly, but their father's old roll-top desk is still there, and even though the documents in the filing cabinets have surely changed, and boxes of old papers and records are lined up against the wall, it still feels familiar.

Derek sits down on the plaid wool couch that hasn't changed much since those days and extends a hand to Zola. She climbs up onto the couch next to him and then frowns.

"It's scratchy."

"That's what we used to say." Derek touches one of her soft cheeks. "Zozo … about what you heard out there …"

"Is it true?" She gazes at him sadly. "Is S-Word really _not_ real?"

He takes her hand, marveling for a moment at how much bigger it is than the tiny one that used to wrap around his finger. Her dark eyes are serious, framed by impossibly long eyelashes, focused on him with anxiety and trust in equal measure.

How can he lie to her?

"Well, the thing is …"

...

" _Dad?" Derek finds his father in the study after dinner, once the big girls are helping Mom with the dishes and Derek has gone through ten whole rounds of picking up the rattle Amy likes to hurl from her high chair._

 _He likes it in the study. It's a little dark and interesting, with all sorts of papers that he knows have to do with his dad's work and a chair that swivels on wheels. There's a hairy rug that feels weird between his toes and it smells nice in that room – comforting, like a mix of pine needles and hot coffee._

 _It smells extra pine-y now because his mom always puts a little miniature Christmas tree thing in the study in December. It's dark outside, real dark, stars shining in through the window. And the window is all chilly and foggy because it's so cold._

" _What's wrong, son?"_

 _Derek fidgets a little, not sure where to begin. His dad seems to know that he needs a little extra time, because he puts a pen into the notebook he's been looking at, closes it, and goes over to sit on the plaid wool couch against the wall. He pats the cushion next to him._

 _Slowly, Derek approaches and then climbs onto the scratchy couch next to his father._

" _Derek? Did something happen at school today?" His father is looking at his face. "You were pretty quiet at dinner."_

 _No one is ever quiet at the Shepherd dinner table, but he knows what his dad means._

" _Kind of," Derek admits. "Well. Mark got into trouble. He had to stay after."_

 _His dad smiles a little. "I'd be more surprised if you told me Mark didn't get into trouble." He stops smiling when Derek doesn't respond. "Why did he get into trouble this time?"_

" _He punched Bobby Rogers at recess."_

" _Bobby Rogers?" Derek's dad looks like he's trying to remember something. "Is he the one who likes to throw the bat in Little League?"_

 _Derek nods._

 _His father looks like he wants to say something, but doesn't. "Why did Mark punch him?"_

"' _Cause he thought Bobby was picking on me."_

 _Now his dad is smiling. "That's a good friend, son."_

" _Yeah." Derek fiddles with one of the loose threads on the couch. His mom would tell him not to pull at it 'cause he could unravel everything, but his dad doesn't say anything for a while._

" _Is there anything else that happened?" his dad asks. His voice is gentle and for some reason it makes Derek feel like he might cry._

 _If big kids cried – but he's almost nine, way too old for that._

" _Son?" His dad is resting one of his big hands on Derek's shoulder now. "You know you can talk to me."_

 _Derek takes a deep breath. "We were on the playground at recess today … and Mark punched Bobby 'cause of something Bobby said to me."_

" _What did he say?"_

" _He said there's no Santa Claus. And only little kids believe in it. And I was a baby 'cause I believed." Derek says it real fast like it won't be true if he doesn't have to hear it again._

" _Ah." His dad nods. "And how does Mark figure into this?"_

" _He said I wasn't a baby and then he socked Bobby."_

" _Did Bobby hit him back?"_

" _No." Derek smiles a little. "No one hits Mark back 'cause he's the biggest." The smile drops off his face when he remembers what happened next._

" _Keep going," his father encourages._

" _Well, Bobby said a bad word and then Mark told him to shut up and then – and then Bobby said 'you know you don't believe in a dumb fairy tale like that either, you said so last year.'"_

 _Derek's father is listening, but looks like he's waiting for something._

" _That's it," Derek explains. "See, Bobby said Mark already knew it – and that was last year! A whole year ago! Mark didn't tell me and he's supposed to be my best friend!"_

" _Oh." His dad nods. "You and Mark usually tell each other everything."_

" _Right!"_

" _Is it possible that Mark didn't want to spoil it for you?"_

" _I don't know…"_

" _You know how I see it, son? Anyone can say Santa Claus isn't real. Believing in Santa Claus … well, that's much harder. That's special. Maybe even magical. Maybe that's why only kids seem to be good at it."_

 _Derek thinks about this. "Do you believe?"_

" _I believe Christmas is a magical time," his dad says. "It was even more magical when I was a kid. You know, sometimes grownups forget how to believe. But they remember how magical it was, so they help their kids believe anyway."_

" _Everyone finds out? When they grow up?"_

 _His father nods, slowly._

" _But … I'm not a baby."_

" _Of course you're not."_

 _Derek nods slowly. "Then how come Mark and Bobby already knew, but I didn't?"_

" _Well." His father looks like he's thinking about it. "Bobby's the oldest in his family, isn't he? And Mark doesn't have any brothers or sisters at all."_

 _Derek is confused, but he nods._

" _But you – until Amy came along, you were the youngest in our house."_

 _Derek makes a face._

"… _which means that your sisters all wanted to help you keep believing."_

" _Really?" Derek considers this. His sisters never laughed at him when he got excited about Santa Claus coming. "They don't believe?"_

" _They did," his father says. "They believed for a long time. But when they stopped, well, they wanted to make sure they didn't ruin the magic for you, too."_

 _Derek thinks about this. His sisters always seemed to believe too, even Lizzie who's going to college next year. Were they just helping him? "Maybe I won't tell them I know," Derek suggests, "so they don't feel bad."_

" _That's up to you, son," his dad says, "and remember, you're not the youngest anymore. Now you have a baby sister."_

" _Yeah." Derek scrunches his nose up a little, as if Amy needs a diaper change._

" _Your sisters looked out for you all this time, so your Christmas would stay magical," his father says gently. "But you're a big brother now. Maybe it's time for you to believe so you can help Amy believe, instead of just believing for yourself."_

" _And then it will still be magical," Derek says thoughtfully._

" _And then it will still be magical."_

 _..._

"S-word is magical?" Zola's pink lips are pursed as she considers this. "But, Daddy, remember Olivia P.'s birthday party, when that magician guy made the rabbit disappear, you and Mommy said magic isn't real."

They did. Zola was upset that the rabbit might be lost somewhere, hungry, and they wanted to reassure her.

"Olivia P. had a magician at her birthday party?" Derek asks, buying a little time. "I thought that was Olivia J."

"No, Olivia J. had a pool party," Zola reminds him.

"Oh, right."

Zola is still looking at him expectantly.

So much for buying time.

"Santa's magic … is a little different," he says finally.

Zola's eyes widen at his word choice. "Your brother is upstairs," he assures her. "So you can say _Santa_ if you want."

Zola nods, not looking totally convinced. "So the ... Santa at the store – he wasn't real?"

Derek pauses. "Okay, you know the guys in the Santa suits who stand on the street and ring their bells, collecting money to help people who need it?"

Zola nods.

"Did you think those were actually Santa?"

"No," she says immediately. "They're just helper guys."

"Right. So, the Santa in the store … well … he was a helper guy too."

Zola tilts her head. She's obviously listening, but there's doubt in her dark eyes.

Derek switches tacks. "Okay, you know how at school, you have a principal?"

Zola nods. "Dr. Rosen. Yeah. Why?"

"Well, you also have a vice-principal."

Zola nods.

"And a head teacher for your whole grade, right? But also a classroom teacher?"

"Uh-huh. But Daddy, what does that have to do with Santa?"

"My point is … Dr. Rosen is in charge, right? But it's a lot of work to run a whole school, so she has lots of other people to help her. The vice-principal … the head teachers … the classroom teachers …."

His daughter seems to be mulling this over. "So the store Santa was like … a vice-Santa?"

"Um…"

"Is he in charge of Connecticut?" Zola asks now, with interest. "Like Ms. Wellesley is in charge of kindergarten?"

"He's, um, he's in charge of … this part of Connecticut," Derek says weakly. "It's a pretty big state."

"Oh." Zola seems to be thinking, and then her face turns anxious. "But, Daddy, if Connecticut Santa is just a vice-Santa, does that mean he can't get my Christmas present?"

"What do you mean, Zozo?"

"Connecticut Santa asked me what I wanted for Christmas," she explains, "and I told him."

Derek nods, buying time.

"So if he's not the real Santa," Zola tugs on the end of one of her braids as she thinks, "then that means he's gonna tell the real Santa what I want? So he can give it to me? Is that right?"

Derek feels like he's entered dangerous territory, and wishes Meredith were in the room too. "…right," he says slowly.

Zola nods, looking significantly happier. "So then if I _do_ get what I asked for, that means the Connecticut Santa _did_ talk to the North Pole Santa."

"Zo," he says tentatively. "The thing is … well, it might depend on what you asked for …"

"Connecticut Santa said it might be a little tricky," Zola admits, "my present, I mean, but he also said he'd do his best. That means he _is_ gonna tell North Pole Santa. Right?"

"Right," he says weakly.

Zola starts to smile, then purses her lips, looking concerned again.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"Daddy … how come you didn't tell me before we went to the store that Connecticut Santa wasn't real?"

"I guess I … wanted you to enjoy the magic?" He hears the question mark in his voice and stumbles over it. "I mean, I guess I wanted you to enjoy the magic," he corrects himself more firmly.

"Oh." Zola considers this, then reaches up one of her little hands and pats his cheek. "That was nice of you, Daddy."

He pulls her onto his lap. "You know what, Zozo, you are a pretty great kid."

She accept the compliment gracefully, and he holds her close for a moment on the scratchy wool couch before they return to join the others.

...

"Did you tell her?" Kathleen whispers, once Zola has been welcomed by her older cousins into the kitchen to bake cookies.

"I … yes. Somewhat. More or less. Well, not exactly," Derek says, glad that his mother put on some Christmas carols – knowing her, an actual record – so that their conversation is further muted.

"What does that mean?" Kathleen props a hand on her hip.

Derek is distracted, though, noticing that his niece Courtney, standing near her mother, looks miserable. "Court? What's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry, Uncle Derek."

"About Zola?"

She nods sadly.

"It's not your fault," he says, surprised. "We were all talking about it. None of us knew Zola was listening."

"That's what I told her." Kathleen sighs, then turns to her daughter. "Okay, you heard it directly from the horse's mouth now."

"Uncle Horse," Derek corrects her, hoping to make his niece smile. She does, a little.

"Court, why don't you go to the kitchen and help the others with the cookies?" Kathleen suggests.

"What if they're mad at me?"

"About this?" Kathleen's eyes widen. "Honey, who do you think gave away the … thing … to you when you were a kid? Your brother and sisters don't have a leg to stand on."

"Oh." Courtney looks a little less upset. "But … Zola might associate me with ruining Christmas."

"Christmas isn't ruined," Derek says quickly. "For anyone."

"Go to the kitchen," Kathleen suggests, "and let Zola associate you with frosting instead."

They watch her leave.

"She's sensitive," Kathleen sighs.

"She's thoughtful." Derek remembers this from years ago, when he used to spend frequent time with his sisters' children. Courtney was careful not to leave anyone out of her games, protective of Benjamin … well, everyone was protective of Benjamin. "I appreciate that she's thinking about Zola's feelings," he tells his sister.

"Yeah." Kathleen looks down at her hands for a moment. "Honestly? I feel terrible too."

"Come on, Kath, it's not your fault either. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

"It's neither of your fault," Meredith says, and they both turn around, not having heard her approach. She's holding a sleepy looking Bailey on her hip.

"You're not going to say it's your fault, are you, Meredith?" Kathleen asks.

"No. It's not anyone's fault." Meredith sighs. "Which doesn't mean that it doesn't suck."

Kathleen glances at her. "That's pretty blunt. And … accurate." She pauses. "That's a compliment, by the way."

"I figured." Meredith smiles a little. "I'm going to get this guy some milk."

..

Meredith has to stop in the kitchen doorway and check behind her to make sure she's still in Derek's mother's house.

And hasn't walked into some kind of Hallmark movie.

Or commercial for Christmas.

Zola, flour dusting her cheeks and her little nose, is sitting in the middle of a sea of attentive cousins with one small arm wrapped around a large red ceramic mixing bowl. There's a large wooden spoon in her other hand, and her surrounding cousins are encouraging her to stir whatever's in the bowl like she's trying to finish crossing the English Channel. Meredith has to smile at their enthusiasm.

Zola looks up and grins when she sees her mother.

"Mommy, look! We're baking!"

"I see that." Meredith smiles at her daughter.

"Me too," Bailey pleads, wriggling in his mother's arms.

Meredith looks from Zola's beaming face to the teenagers surrounding her.

Zola's the baby right now, the focus of their attention. She's such a good big sister most of the time, willingly sharing her parents with her baby brother – and Meredith decides she deserves a break.

"Not this time, buddy." She shifts Bailey to her other hip. "Let's get you some milk and then I heard Grandma still has Daddy's old train sets."

"Choo choo," Bailey says mournfully, accepting his fate along with a fistful of Meredith's hair.

…

"How's it going in there?"

"Zola's enjoying being the center of attention, I think," Meredith says. "Kathleen … your kids are really great with her."

Her sister-in-law smiles. "They were excited to meet her. They haven't had a little cousin to dote on in a while. And you can call me Kate," she tells Meredith.

"Kate?" Derek raises his eyebrows. "You're still trying to make _Kate_ happen?"

"Oh, shut up," Kathleen mutters.

Meredith looks from one of them to the other curiously, cradling Bailey on her hip.

"She used to try to get us to call her Kate when we were kids," Derek explains. "She didn't like _Kath_ or _Kathy_."

"So of course that's all they called me," Kathleen interjects.

"She used to threaten to start going by Kate when she went to college," Derek recalls.

"I did," Kathleen says with dignity. "And professionally – "

"Oh, your patients call you Kate? Not Dr. Kate?"

"Shut up, Derek," Kathleen says again, looking like she's fighting a smile. Meredith just turns her head from one sibling to the other as they bicker.

"My point is, Meredith, _you_ should feel free to call me Kate." Kathleen smiles warmly at her, then glares at her brother.

"Mom doesn't call you Kate," Derek says mildly.

"Mom gave birth to me. She gets leeway."

"Your husband doesn't call you Kate."

"Because _you_ and Nancy told him the first Thanksgiving he visited that I hated being called Kate!"

"Oh yeah, we did do that," Derek admits, looking rather proud of himself. He rubs his chin thoughtfully, then glances at Meredith's amused – but wary – expression.

"Wil our kids do this?" she asks, looking back and forth between the siblings.

"This? Oh, this is nothing," Kathleen assures her. "Trust me."

"Yes, trust _Kate_ ," Derek says wryly, then holds his hands out innocently when his sister glares.

"Choo-choo," Bailey reminds his mother, whimpering – he's been as mesmerized by the back and forth sibling banter as Meredith, but now that it's settled down he's ready for maternal attention again. "Mama, choo-choo."

"Right." Meredith glances at Derek. "You said something about trains…?"

"I did?" He considers this. "Are you mixing me up with Crack Grandma?"

"Crack Grandma?" His mother draws herself up to her full – though not very tall – height. "I beg your pardon?"

"It's a compliment," Derek says quickly. "Um, how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough." His mother looks like she's trying to appear annoyed, but seems rather flattered nonetheless. "And yes, I'm the one who mentioned the train set. It's in the playroom. Bailey, would you like to go with Grandma to see the trains?"

"Yes!" Bailey is all smiles now; clapping both hands, he bucks for Meredith to place him on the ground.

Derek, Meredith, and Kathleen watch Carolyn and Bailey walk off hand in hand.

"Crack Grandma," Meredith murmurs.

"Totally," Kathleen agrees, then rolls her eyes when her cell phone vibrates loudly. " _That_ will be my husband, and he'll want me to – honey, hi!" she answers brightly, giving Meredith and Derek an apologetic smile.

"How did Zola seem?" Meredith asks as they move away from Kathleen to give his sister some privacy. The first floor is large and spread out; they end up in the dining room, side by side at the long wooden table whose scars and whorls he can still remember intimately.

"She seemed … okay."

Meredith looks relieved. "So she wasn't too disappointed?"

"No," Derek admits, "I don't think so."

"But she understands – she doesn't understand," Meredith interrupts herself, correctly reading his expression. "Derek … what exactly did you tell her?"

"I didn't lie to her," he says immediately, "but I couldn't exactly … well …." He fills her in on the conversation. "Are you mad?" he asks.

"Of course not." She rests her smaller hand over his. "Just – concerned, I guess."

"Before, in the kitchen, you kicked me under the table," he recalls, "when we were talking about S-word. I mean, about Santa."

"Sorry about that."

"Your dainty little feet didn't do any damage, don't worry," he teases her. "No, I just meant – did you not want Zola to go see Santa?"

Meredith takes a few moments to respond. "I guess I was a little reluctant."

He tries to recall her words from a few days ago. "Because we're encouraging our kids to ask for presents from some strange old guy while they sit on his lap?"

Meredith makes a face. "Well, that too. I just don't like the idea of lying to her."

"Neither do I," he assures her. "But isn't this kind of – a happy medium?"

"Telling her the mall Santa is one of the real Santa's subordinates?" Meredith considers this, smiling a little. "Is he?"

"No," Derek admits. "My mom said he's an accountant from East Haddam."

Meredith smiles a little at this.

"I don't want to lie to her either. I really don't. I guess I just think there's a difference between lying, and magic."

"What's the difference?"

"One is a lie … and one is magical." Derek moves some of his wife's hair away from her face to see her expression. "I wanted to talk about this with you, Mer, figure out how to … approach it, but Zola was asking questions and you were with Bailey."

"No, it's good. I'm glad you handled it." She pauses. "You did handle it, right?"

He recalls Zola's relieved smile when they sat together on the old couch in what used to be his own father's study:

 _So then if I do get what I asked for, that means the Connecticut Santa did talk to the North Pole Santa._

"She's waiting to see if she gets the present she asked for," Derek admits, "from the mall Santa. That will be her proof that the real Santa is … real."

"What did she ask for?"

"She wouldn't tell me." Derek grimaces, then sees that Meredith is smiling. "What?"

"Nothing." She looks like she's trying not to laugh. "Just – remember the conference you went to this summer, and you told Zola you'd bring her back a present?"

"And she asked for a car," he finishes the story, laughing a little himself. "I do remember that. Speaking of which," he checks the time, "I should call the airport and see if they've made any progress with our suitcases."

"You think they have?"

"No," Derek says honestly. "I think we're going to have to give up and buy all new presents for the kids, actually."

"That's okay." Meredith takes his hand. "I checked, and the mall where your mom took us has hours tonight and tomorrow too – we'll figure it out."

"Mall?" Derek raises his eyebrows. "Forget the mall. The real question is, will any of the car dealerships be open?"

They're both laughing when they hear a commotion at the front door. With Crack Grandma immersed in choo-choos with Bailey, Kathleen-not-Kate-or-maybe-Kate somewhere talking to her husband, and the teenaged cousins busy baking with Zola, they head toward the living room to check it out. Apparently his mother still doesn't lock the door, because it swings open and the entryway is suddenly flooded with a noisy group of rosy-cheeked, snow-dusted people, stomping their boots on the mat outside and commenting loudly on the cold.

"Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!" Derek's brother-in-law booms, tugging on his greyish-white beard. "What?" he asks, when Derek and Meredith exchange a glance.

"Nothing." Derek wraps an arm around Meredith's shoulder. "Mer, meet … more of my family."

She smiles at them in a friendly way, but he can feel her tensing a little next to him. He knows her well enough to know what that means:

 _More of? More than … this?_

* * *

 **...to be continued (since we're still two days from Christmas, and the luggage is still in abeyance). Two things: first, I hope you like flashbacks, because there are a couple more coming up that I actually wrote when I first started planning this story. And second, I had some fun with Kathleen-or-maybe-Kate. When I found out that Meredith in season 13 or so had "Kate Shepherd" in her phone, it was as much of a life-changer as well Lizzie got a name six seasons in and made six years of fic out of date. So a million stories later, Kate? Really, _Kate_? I hope you like my solution to that problem. Next time: meet the family that's just shown up, get an update on abeyance, and get ready for some more Christmas magic. I know it's dreary February plus flu season plus Olympic season, but this machine runs on feedback even in winter (get it?) so I hope you will review and let me know what you think! **

PS I promise I have an update to _Trailblazing_ planned! I just want to get through Christmas first...


	9. Two Days to Christmas, Part IV

_**A/N:**_ **Thank you so much for the feedback on this story! I appreciate every review and I also appreciate the chance to write this fun story that serves as an antidote to some of the angst I can't seem to help cooking up. And who doesn't want to relive Christmas? So welcome back to Shepherdsville, Connecticut, where it's still two days to Christmas, and more (more!) Shepherds have just arrived...**

* * *

 ** _Unto_ _Certain Shepherds_**

 **Chapter 9: Two Days to Christmas, Part IV**

...

* * *

Nancy, Liz, each of their husbands, and most of their children have all arrived now, and it's quiet and relaxed in the Shepherd family home. The adults are relaxing with beverages on the couch while the children calmly entertain themselves in the kitchen.

It's peaceful.

It's serene.

… it's a lie.

" _Uncle Derek!_ " scream voices he hasn't heard in person in years, and then he's surrounded – tackled, more like – by a clump of teenagers who were still children when he left New York. They're all talking at once, and he can only pick up snatches of words

"- but then Mom said your plane was-"

"- Zola, because I have something I need to –"

" – shortstop and everything, so then –"

" – snowman outside and the shoe kind of –"

"Kids. _Kids!"_ Nancy finally whistles with two fingers, a trick Derek knows she learned from their father, and a grumbling silence slowly descends.

(It's not the serene silence other houses might have, but it's something.)

Nancy massages her temples. "We know you're happy to see Uncle Derek, but try not to puncture his eardrums."

Derek smiles weakly, then glances at Meredith, who has a wary-but-welcoming expression.

"Meredith, it's so good to see you again," Nancy says brightly. "Merry Christmas. I guess you already met my husband, and about … half … of these animals are ours." She gestures toward the clump of Derek's nieces and nephews.

"And the other half are mine," Liz says. She gives Meredith a hug. "It's been too long," she tells her warmly. "I can't wait to meet the children."

" _Now_ can we talk?"

"Is there some way to stop you?" Nancy asks under her breath. Derek sees Randall elbow her, but they both look amused.

"Uncle Derek." It's Shannon, who looks very serious. "We _need_ to meet Zola."

"And Bailey," says Samantha, who despite being about a foot taller than the last time Derek saw her doesn't seem to have changed much. And apparently she and Shannon are still as tight as ever.

"And their mother," Liz interjects. "Do any of you have any manners at all? Did you even say hello to Meredith?"

"Hello, Meredith!" a cheerful voice pipes up. And Derek's youngest nephew, Joseph, his eyes bright with happiness, holds out a hand for her to shake.

"Hello!" Meredith can't seem to help echoing his enthusiasm in response, taking his hand – which he pumps energetically.

"Meredith, this is Joseph," Nancy says, smiling at her son. "Joey, Meredith is married to Uncle Derek. So she's actually your aunt Meredith now."

"Aunt Meredith," Joseph repeats. "Okay." He turns to Derek. "Do you want to go hiking with me?"

"I'd love to go hiking with you," Derek says, "but it's a little cold out now."

"I have a hiking badge." Joseph fingers the collar of his sweater.

"Joey is in the Lion Scouts," Nancy tells Derek and Meredith. She strokes his hair fondly.

Derek notices Shannon and Samantha are flanking him – their brother and cousin, respectively – and recalls how protective the others have always been of Joseph.

"Michael's in scouts with him," Nancy says as if she's read his mind. "And they've been having a lot of fun, haven't you, boys?"

" _Yes,_ " Joseph says happily, and Michael, who is about a head taller than his brother now, quickly agrees.

"All right." Liz props her hands on her hips – ever the oldest, ever the organizer. "Meredith, get ready, and I'll give you the rundown."

With that, she runs through the list of names. Derek's nieces and nephews seem to find this hilarious and promptly form a line so they can march forward and back when named, _Sound of Music-_ style.

"Where's your whistle, Mom?"

"Aunt Lizzie, this would sound more official with an English accent."

"I'm sorry, Liz," Nancy says, deadpan. "When we had all these children, I just thought they'd stay little and cute forever."

"Does that mean mine won't, either?" Derek asks with mock-horror.

"Maybe you'll get a Christmas miracle." Nancy tucks her short hair behind her ears. "Kids, if you want to meet Zola so badly, she's …"

She glances at Derek.

"… in the kitchen," he reports, "making cookies."

About half the group tears off at that, disappearing in the direction of the fragrant Christmas baking.

Joseph is still there. Derek smiles at him. "You don't want to make cookies, buddy?"

"Mom says you have a boy."

"I do have a boy." Derek wraps an arm around Meredith. "We have a little boy too. He's playing trains with Grandma right now."

Joseph looks interested.

"You want to join them?" Nancy straightens his sweater and then glances at Derek for permission; he nods.

"Play nice, bud, remember," Randall interjects, his tone gentle. "Bailey's a lot smaller than you are."

Joseph assures his parents he will, and the rest of his cousins flock with him toward the playroom.

And with that, Nancy collapses on the couch, her exhaustion clearly not just feigned for amusement.

She closes her eyes briefly, apparently summoning energy, and then opens them again. "Meredith," she says, her tone serious, "if you decide to run, I won't object. I might even go with you."

…

Meredith notes with some amusement that Nancy revives very quickly once a cup of coffee appears from the kitchen. She's friendlier than she was in Seattle – which isn't particularly surprising, considering the way they first met.

"I'm dying to meet Zola," she confides, "but I don't want to just – surround her when there are already so many new people. Randy says she's adorable."

"I could try to deny it," Meredith says, "but I'd be lying."

"That's funny. Derek – your wife is funny."

"Yes, I'm aware." Derek is sitting on the arm of Meredith's chair, and she appreciates his solicitous inclinations even if he's reminding her a bit of the large sheepdog who serves as a nanny in _Peter Pan._

… which Zola had them watching nightly before Christmas movies became more appealing.

"We have a lot of kids," Nancy is saying, sounding matter-of-fact. "It must be overwhelming. The truth is, we haven't had anyone come into the family this late before." She stops talking, frowning at Derek. "What? It wasn't a dig! I'm serious. The rest of them kind of … married in and then gradually we all had a bunch of kids. Meredith has to deal with all fourteen of them at once. Or most of them, anyway."

"I'm glad to meet them," Meredith interjects quickly, before Nancy and Derek can continue whatever sibling eye contact argument is happening over her head.

"To meet whom?" Liz asks, sitting down next to Nancy.

"Our animals," Nancy tells her sister.

"They're not animals," Liz frowns.

Meredith nods understandingly.

"They're bulldozers. Extremely destructive bulldozers," Liz explains. Then her face creases with worry. "Meredith – you don't have anything valuable sitting around, do you?"

"Just my children," she says.

"Good." Liz looks relieved.

"They won't bulldoze children, right?" Meredith asks weakly, not sure if she's joking.

"Oh, they will," Kathleen pipes in, dropping down on the couch beside Liz. "But the children seem to like it."

"Fair enough," Derek says from behind her. She can hear the smile in his voice. "Mer … I'm going to go check on Bailey and Crack Grandma, if that's okay …"

"Of course."

She turns to face her three sisters-in-law, feeling rather like she's at a congressional hearing.

"Crack Grandma?" Liz repeats dubiously.

"Um." Meredith finds herself blushing. "Zola and Bailey kind of fell in love with her right away, and we just …"

Her voice trails off.

Derek's sisters look disapproving.

Judgmental.

She should never have –

"That's hilarious," Nancy announces. The other two chuckle along with her.

"We called her Pied Grandma for a while," Liz explains, "because she's always been like this with the kids – a total magnet – but even though it was obviously a shoutout to the Pied Piper, Mom seemed to think we were calling her fat."

"So that nickname kind of … " Kathleen gestures in the air as if to say: _poof._

"But yours sounds better," Liz says, satisfied.

"Mom seems to like it," Kathleen adds with a smile.

Meredith finds herself smiling too. Having a mother-in-law who's more offended at the thought of pies than of crack is a little more dark and twisty than she expected.

Which is kind of nice.

…

"Daddy!" Bailey yells happily when Derek pokes his head into the family room.

His son is seated on the floor with trains surrounding his chubby little legs, along with what looks like miles of disconnected railway track. Derek's mother is seated in much the same position – age and sciatica be damned apparently, because she looks blissful.

"Grandma, look!" Joseph shows her the track he connected.

"Oh, that's very good, Joey," Carolyn says, smiling broadly at her grandson.

"Good!" Bailey repeats.

Joseph looks pleased; Derek stops to ruffle his nephews hair before he settles on the ground with the others. He notices three of his nieces sitting together on the old couch behind the railway; it looks like they've been chatting while also keeping an eye on the railway building.

Even so many years later, it's fascinating to see the family dynamics so similar to what he remembers. Joseph, the youngest before Zola, was born with Down syndrome – the sweetest baby whose red hair was a throwback to his Maloney grandparents. Derek can't remember a time Joey wasn't surrounded by siblings and cousins, doting and protective. His brother Michael, older by less than a year and a half, was his constant shadow at home and, later, in school. Derek knows that Joseph is a big part of why all three of his sisters maintained homes close to each other in Connecticut, allowing all of their children to attend the same schools, play in the same sports leagues, attend the same community events.

Derek feels a little choked up looking at Joseph now. Based on how gently he's sharing with Bailey and letting the little boy lead the game, he's as sweet as ever, but his face is far from a baby's. He must be thirteen now, and though his height is lingering behind that of his siblings and cousins, he has clearly matured.

He gives his sisters a hard time, sometimes – it's a brother's right, after all, but he also doesn't like feeling guilty for abandoning their suffocating closeness for his own life in Seattle. Now, though, seeing his nieces and nephews interact with each other, how kindly and supportively they care for the younger ones among them, he's reminded that his sisters are more than just his siblings.

His bossy siblings.

His bossy, occasionally infuriating siblings.

They are mothers, too.

Good mothers.

It's not that they weren't good mothers before; he just never really thought about it.

But now, with his own children...

"Derek – you okay?" Randall, who has been helping his son build an overpass, glances over at him.

"I'm fine," he says hastily. But despite himself, he finds his voice thick with emotion. "I was just, uh, thinking that you have great kids," Derek admits. "That all of you do. You and Mason and Russ and my sisters, you've really done an incredible job."

He's a little embarrassed now.

Maybe because it's Christmas, he just can't seem to shake the feeling of sentimental nostalgia.

Randall's eyes widen. "Derek … are you drunk?"

… and with a record-scratch, he's back to normal.

"Only on the inside," he assures his brother-in-law.

…

"Mommy! Want to taste?"

Zola, flanked by adoring cousins, is beaming at her in her cute ruffled apron. She's holding out a red ceramic plate loaded with fluffy-looking sugar cookies.

"They're not frosted 'cause you have to wait 'til they cool," her daughter explains. "But they're still good. I had one."

The way Zola pronounces _one_ makes it sound like it's probably more than that, but based on the protective stance of her cousins, it's also clear no one is about to tattle.

Meredith takes a cookie, as does each of Derek's sisters.

"That's delicious, Zozo," she praises.

"So light," Liz proclaims generously.

"You wish they were light," Nancy mutters, receiving an elbow in the ribs in return.

"Baking is so fun," Zola says happily. "Kristen let me turn on the thing and everything!"

Meredith aims her appreciative smile in the general direction of the girl she's hoping is Kristen. There are just so many teenaged nieces and they all seem to have some variation of long brown hair.

"You're having so much fun," she agrees with Zola. "And you're not giving your cousins any trouble, right?"

Zola shakes her head solemnly; the two cousins on either side of her look offended at the mere thought that Zola _could_ cause trouble.

Meredith is clearly outnumbered.

"Let me know if you need anything," she adds weakly as the girls race back to the kitchen together.

"A Shepherd Christmas," Nancy says, sounding amused. "The older they get, the less they want us around."

"They still want stocking," Liz points out.

"And presents."

"And presents," Liz agrees.

"Meredith." Nancy looks concerned. "Randy said your suitcases were being held somewhere."

"They are."

"And that's where – "

She nods. No need to say the words: _that's where your painstakingly chosen presents for your children are._

"Oh, no." Nancy leans forward, elbows on knees, looking like she's ready to tackle the problem. "Well, the shopping center out on Route 20 has long hours for Christmas. You could sneak out if you need to buy … alternate things."

"We may need to do that," Meredith admits.

"I mean, we have presents for the kids," Liz says quickly, "but I imagine you've picked out ones they'd like better since you know what they like."

Meredith nods distractedly, focused on the idea that she'd know what her children like.

She does, in most ways.

She can easily select their favorite foods, colors, and animals, and she has no doubt they would have enjoyed each carefully wrapped gift she and Derek stowed in their lost luggage.

But she still has no idea what Zola told Santa she wanted.

And the problem is – it's that particular elusive gift that, based on what Derek told her, Zola will use to confirm the truth of Santa's existence.

"Meredith?"

She refocuses on three very similar-looking worried faces.

"Sorry," she says quickly. "Um. What time did you say the shopping center closes?"

…

"So we're doing this?" Derek asks, his words making visible puffs of breath in the cold air outside. It's already getting dark.

"We're doing this," Meredith confirms, a little uncertainly.

They both pause outside Mason's jeep, borrowed keys dangling from Derek's gloved hand.

Automatically, Meredith opens the back door, prepared to load in the kids.

Except they have no kids.

She gives Derek a weak smile; based on his expression, muscle memory was guiding him as much as it was her.

"You ready to go?"

"Well …"

Derek leans against the car. "Go on," he says.

"What if Bailey's upset that I left?" Meredith asks nervously.

"He said _bye, mama_ pretty pointedly," Derek says.

"Right, but what if he gets hungry?"

"No one gets hungry in Carolyn Shepherd's house. The bigger risk is that he's gained ten pounds by the time we get back and can't fit in his new clothes."

"But what if Zola gets anxious?"

"Is it even possible to be anxious when you've consumed that much sugar?" Derek asks.

"Well – "

" – or anything other than deliriously happy, I mean."

Meredith doesn't seem convinced.

"She wanted to stay," Derek reminds her gently. "She said the cookies had finally cooled down enough to decorate. And she has a dozen-strong team of cousins to keep her fed, happy, and entertained."

"You're right," Meredith says, hoping she'll believe it if she says it. She closes the back door.

"So we're doing this?" Derek asks.

"We're doing this," Meredith confirms.

…

And that's how a couple with two incredibly busy careers _and_ two incredibly adorable children find themselves alone, together, for the first time in quite a long time.

Sitting across from each other.

Knees bumping under the table.

Looking into each other's eyes.

"Derek," Meredith says softly.

"Yes, Meredith?"

"Are you going to finish that … lattecino?"

"No, do you want some?" Derek passes the rather violently colored cup across the gummy metal table toward her.

"No, thank you." Meredith wrinkles her nose. The smell of the drink, which seems to be caffeine and sugary syrup in equal measure, is turning her stomach.

"Mer, you know what they say," Derek chides her gently. "People drinking orange slushies shouldn't throw stones."

"It's not a slushy," she says.

"It says _Slushy Town_ on the cup."

"Fine, it's a slushy." Meredith takes a dignified sip. "You have your caffeine, and I'll have my sugar."

"Fair enough," Derek says, "although I think mine is half of both. But we just need enough of a kick to power us through…" he glances at their list. "… a lot."

In case he forgot to mention it, their romantic one on one date is currently located in the grimy, loud, fluorescently-lit food court of the big shopping center out on Route 20, which is indeed open late for Christmas but doesn't seem to be employing much staff in the way of, say, mopping floors.

Not that he judges! Derek worked retail for years, in high school and college, and he never enjoyed the pressure to sell on holidays.

But so far the process of trying to replace their children's lost presents has been so exhausting that this is their second trip to the food court, in all its orange and yellow glory, to procure drinks.

Derek asked for an espresso the first time, and received a _look_ in response.

Which means at this point they've both consumed enough sugar to rival Zola and her cousins' baking extravaganza and Derek's hands are shaking faintly from caffeine.

"We're probably not going to be able to find exact replicas," Meredith says carefully. "But I really think it's okay."

"I know," Derek says, his tone a little _too_ casual. "It's fine."

He busies himself throwing out their garbage before offering Meredith a gallant arm. "Back to our date?"

"Back to our date," she says, smiling up at him, and they take their place on the escalator behind a teenaged couple wrapped so closely together Meredith is vaguely concerned that pregnancy might be imminent.

…

"How about this one?"

Derek shakes his head. "The color isn't right."

"Derek…"

"I'm keeping an open mind," he says defensively, perhaps recalling her gentle critique at the previous toy store. "But it's not right."

"You mean it's not the same as the one in abeyance."

Derek doesn't answer.

Meredith sighs.

She knows how proud he was of the dark blue scooter with smatterings of silver stars that he selected for Zola. It's bigger than the one she already has – and she's bigger too – and he even found a matching helmet. And she agrees it's perfect for Zola, who loves sitting on the porch to look up at the stars, cuddled on Derek's lap, asking him to name constellations.

"We can hold off on the scooter, then, and hope the suitcase comes through," Meredith suggests.

Derek doesn't look convinced.

"You ordered the stars scooter specially from that artisan welder you found," Meredith reminds him. "We can't expect …" she reads from the marquee "… Bob's Toy Barn to have the same one."

"You're right," Derek says after a moment.

"I know I'm right." Meredith rests a hand on his arm. "I don't care about being right. I care about you. Derek, Zola's the least greedy child I know. Remember when Bailey tried to give her a gum wrapper he found on the street and she cried because we wouldn't let her keep it, and it was _a really nice present_?"

He can't seem to help smiling at the memory.

"You know that," she continues, "about her, and Bailey's too little to know the difference."

"I know."

"Then why – oh." Meredith pauses, realizing. It's not about the artisanal scooter with the matching bespoke helmet or any of the other carefully selected gifts.

It's about something else entirely.

"You feel guilty," she says gently, "about Santa."

"I feel guilty about Santa," he admits. He can't seem to meet her eye. "She's so little still, Meredith! I didn't start questioning until I was almost nine. That's years and years of magic she doesn't get because – "

He stops talking.

"Because what? Because she overheard something? Derek, she's in heaven with all those cousins playing with her. Your family has been so wonderful to her. To all of us. Don't you think it's worth whatever slipped out while she was hiding in the drapes?"

He presses his lips together.

"I think if you asked Zola, she'd say she's having a pretty good Christmas so far," Meredith continues. "And that's with our ten-city tour of America, and the lost luggage, and wearing neon clothes from the Debbie Gibson kids' line. And yes, with the Santa … stuff. And besides, you fixed it."

"I didn't fix it."

"You fixed it," Meredith repeats firmly. "What you told her – was smart, Derek. It was perfect."

"Perfect until it blows up in our faces."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we need to figure out how to give her what she asked Santa for or she's going to know that the … messenger whose lap she sat on is just an accountant from East Haddam."

"If she knows all that, she's been eavesdropping more than we thought."

Derek seems to be fighting a smile. "I don't want to ruin Christmas for her, Mer."

"I know." Impulsively, she leans into him for a hug that goes on long enough for a gaggle of giggling tweens to shout _get a room!_

Amused, she pulls back. "Christmas isn't ruined. Christmas is great. And Christmas … is just starting. It's not even Christmas Eve until tomorrow. We still have time to get stuff for the kids, for the tree, for the stockings, and more importantly … we have time to be together, all of us. Isn't that the best present of all?"

Derek stares.

"What?" Meredith asks defensively.

"Nothing, just – did my mother pay you to say that?"

Meredith laughs. "So your family is pretty great. That means I'm being blackmailed?"

"Bribed," he corrects her, "and I'm just saying, this wasn't exactly your reaction to my family the first time."

"I met your mom for three seconds in the middle of an insane day," she reminds him. "I was too busy worrying about you to get to know Liz, and she didn't seem too upset about that, and as for Nancy …"

Her voice trails off.

The less said about _that_ visit, the better.

"But they've been great. To Zola, to Bailey, to me … they're great, Derek."

"They're going to try to get you to move to Connecticut," he says darkly.

"Then I'll be flattered, but that doesn't mean we're moving. _Derek_ ," she says more firmly when he doesn't respond. "It doesn't have to be either or. It doesn't have be seeing them once a decade or moving into your mom's basement. We can have, you know, a happy medium."

"Shepherds don't do happy mediums."

"Sure they do." Meredith links her arms through his. "We're Shepherds, the four of us, and we're here, in Connecticut, for Christmas. Not forever. And we'll go home. And we can come back and then go home again."

Slowly, he nods.

"Happy medium!" she says. "See? Now. Let's see if we can find Hortense."

"Which one is Hortense, again?"

"She's green."

"We already got the green one," he says, puzzled. "And the other green one, too."

"Hortense is the new green one," she reminds him. "Not green, green. _Green_ , green."

"Was that English?"

"She's environmentally sound," Meredith reminds him. "She runs on clean energy and – what?"

"Nothing," he says, grinning. "Just toy trains have really changed since I was a kid."

"Well, that was a _long_ time ago, Derek – hey!" she squeals as he traps her hands, but all he does is kiss her.

And she doesn't exactly mind.

…

They stash the gifts they've bought in the trunk, planning to sneak out later to wrap them, and make their way inside.

"We've been gone a while," Meredith points out.

"My mom would have called if anything was wrong," Derek reminds her. "Everything's fine. You'll see."

He pushes open the door.

The living room is empty.

But there's an unmistakable sound coming from the direction of the family room.

Crying.

In stereo.

"Oh, no." Meredith drops her bag. "Derek –"

"It's okay," he says even though he's not sure it is, and he's hot on her heels as they follow the sound of sobs to the family room, visions of broken bones and train-related injuries racing through their minds.

Their poor children, left alone with strangers they barely know, crying for the parents who walked out on them. Guilt plunges through his stomach. As they get closer it almost sounds like more people are crying than just his children.

How many injuries are they talking about here?

Terrified, he squeezes Meredith's hand for strength and pushes open the closed family room door.

… only to find all of the cousins gathered on the two couches – Zola snuggled between Kristen and Courtney, Bailey cuddled on Crack Grandma's lap.

No one is bleeding.

No one seems injured.

They're all starting intently at the television.

… and they're also crying.

"What's wrong?" Derek demands, looking from one weeping face to the next. "What happened?"

"Oh, Derek," his mother looks up, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I'm sorry, dear, it's just that she died so suddenly."

His stomach drops. The TV must be for distraction from whatever tragedy occurred. He tries to remember which of his mother's relatives are still alive.

"Was it Aunt Gladys?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, who … _died_?" He tries to keep from panicking, looking from one tear-streaked face to the next.

"Bambi's mother," Carolyn says, her voice shaking. "She died. The hunters _killed_ her."

"Don't remind us, Grandma!" Shannon wipes tears from her cheeks.

"Now I'm gonna cry again," Courtney announces, dissolving in tears.

"Bambi?" Derek props his hands on his hips, turning to Meredith. "Bambi? You're crying about _Bambi_?"

"His mother just died!" Mason says defensively, and when Derek turns to glare at his brother-in-law he sees him quickly rub his eyes.

"It's a cartoon!" Derek protests, and approximately forty individual eyes turn on him in horror.

" … I just meant I'm glad nothing is actually wrong," he says quickly. "It's a very sad movie, yes. Which you've all seen before."

"Like a hundred times," Samantha agrees, her voice trembling. "It's the _saddest._ "

"Then why are you watching it?"

"Because it's also the best," Kristen says in a tone suggesting that her uncle Derek is the densest person she's ever encountered.

"I give up." Derek shakes his head. "I'll leave to your deer funeral. Mom, can we help you get dinner together, or … "

"Oh, the boys threw some meat in the smoker," his mother says, gesturing in the general direction of her sons-in-law and assorted nephews. "Why don't you two go settle in and we'll wrap up the movie."

"That sounds like a good idea."

Derek closes the family room door behind him and he and Meredith use every ounce of self-control to make it all the way up the stairs before they collapse in laughter.

…

"An' Kristen's seen _Bambi_ a hundred million times," Zola reports, attempting to cut some brisket and resorting to her fingers instead.

"Not really that many," Kristen says, "but a lot. It was Zola's idea to watch it," she adds, glancing at Derek.

"We always watch movies at Christmas," Shannon reminds him. "Mom says you did when you were kids, too."

"We did," Derek assures her. To Nancy, seated close enough for a lowered voice, he adds, "what's next, _Terms of Endearment_?"

Nancy covers a spluttering cough with her napkin, politely. "Honestly, Derek."

"But we can watch a Christmas movie after dinner. Right?" Zola bounces in her seat. She's halfway down the long table from Derek – and the long table has already been extended with card tables of varying heights and metal folding chairs, Shepherd style. She wasn't quite ready to separate from her cousins.

Bailey, who seems to adore his newfound family as well, nonetheless also seems to have remembered his overflowing fondness for his mother, and is currently curled in her lap with his eyelashes fluttering sleepily.

…or maybe he's feeling extra attached to her after the tearful showing of _Bambi_ earlier, who knows?

"This is delicious," he tells Mason – or the general area of Mason's seat, because his brother-in-law is engaged in a friendly wrestling match with Joseph, which is being eagerly encouraged by two nephews.

"Mason," Nancy scolds. "Joey has excellent table manners at home, you know."

"This isn't home, it's Grandma's house," Mason says. "At Christmas. Who needs manners?"

"You can't really argue with that," Carolyn adds, her eyes twinkling. "Joey, darling, let Uncle Mason finish his meal and then you can finish your championship."

"Okay!" Joseph is undaunted, and returns to his own pile of mashed potatoes.

Derek makes more headway on his salad, noting that Bailey is moving swiftly from half-asleep to all-asleep on Meredith's lap. He looks so sweet and peaceful cuddled against her that he feels a brief pang of longing for his children's babyhood. They were both so small and soft, all big trusting eyes and tiny hands curled around their fingers.

Bailey is a snuggler, and hopefully that won't change, but he's also a toddler who – when awake – is more likely to want to bolt around the house and make trains crash into each other.

For just a moment, he lets himself indulge in the thought of his children as babies.

Of babies.

"Derek?"

"Yeah." He comes back to reality so quickly that some water sloshes over the side of his glass. "Sorry. Did you say something?"

"I was just asking what you were thinking about," Meredith says. "You seemed so far away."

He looks around the table at the sea of faces, most of which he hasn't seen in years but all of which have somehow become so familiar again it's as if they never left his memory.

He looks at Zola, beaming in a throng of adoring cousins who can't seem to get enough of her.

He looks at his mother, who seems on the verge of tears – but happy ones this time – the way he recalls her seeming, often, when they all gathered together.

He looks at Meredith's wide expectant eyes, thinks about her words in the shopping center. Thinks about what it's like to love someone as a person and then get to love them as a mother, too. About how much his life has changed in the last eight years.

About how he'd never go back.

Not ever.

About how it feels to feel so lucky.

To be able to return to a place you once called _home_ and be married to someone wise enough to remind you that even if it's no longer _home_ – it doesn't mean you can never come back.

"… I'm thinking about Christmas," he says.

It's true.

* * *

 _ **To be continued. That wraps up Christmas Eve Eve, you guys - next up is Christmas Eve. Want to find out why Derek is so intent on keeping the magic alive for Zola? Want to know if Kathleen's other daughter will ever be back from the library? Want to figure out if the Shepherd family luggage can be saved? Then tune in for the next chapter. And better yet, review this one and tell me you still love McChristmas! :)**_


	10. Christmas Eve, Part I

_**A/N:**_ **It's Christmas! Well, Christmas Eve. Here's a nice long chapter to celebrate. Plus, it's ... sugary Sunday? Something like that. This chapter is a little different, and I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

 ** _Unto Certain Shepherds_  
Chapter 10: Christmas Eve, Part I**

...

* * *

"Meredith?"

"… Derek?"

There's a pause after each whispers the other's name into the darkness.

And then two sighs of relief at the silence.

This makes sense when taking into account that the two previous times they tried this – waiting until both children seemed deeply asleep cuddled against them in Derek's childhood bed that's far too small for any of this – it didn't go so well.

They had a plan.

A solid plan.

Wait until after the Shepherd family merriment has waned, snippets of carols sung around the table, the movies and stories read aloud, until the children are bathed and dressed in their Christmas pajamas and snuggled in bed.

… and then sneak downstairs and unload the jeep they drove to the shopping center last night and bring in the presents that fill the trunk.

And wrap them.

And put bows on them.

And write cards for them.

And altogether do whatever they can to make them look like they're not just pale replacements for the gifts that fill the suitcases that are still in abeyance.

That was the plan.

So the plan was solid, but the execution …?

Well.

The first time, Meredith couldn't help laughing at Derek's urgent whisper, which was somehow terribly funny in the warm darkness of the narrow and crowded bed – and then the movement of her body moved Bailey, who woke just enough to clutch a handful of her hair and require additional soothing back to sleep.

The second time, Derek – who really deserved this after shaking his head at Meredith when she started laughing – was the one to laugh, and _his_ laughter jostled Zola. She lifted her little head and murmured, inexplicably, _seven pink ones, please_ , and then drifted back to sleep.

After that, they made sure to wait until they were certain their children's sleep would last.

Their sleep seems genuine, and deep, at this point.

By now, Zola and Bailey are breathing in deep, slow patterns that are so peaceful Meredith is surprised that both she and Derek have stayed awake. But they're awake, and after gripping each other's hands silently in an unspoken replacement for laughter, they take turns disentangling their slumbering children and finding their way out of bed. Derek sets Bailey with excruciating care inside the pack 'n' play and then tucks Zola into her small cot. With another exhale of relief, he wraps his arm around Meredith's shoulder, she wraps hers around his waist, and they engage in the same _one two three will they wake up or are we safe_ wait and watch routine they've been doing since Zola was a baby.

One.

Two.

 _Three._

"We're safe," Derek whispers.

"Don't jinx us."

Derek seems to consider this. Very carefully, he sets up the baby monitor and pockets the other half. Then, when neither child wakes, he drops a victorious kiss on the top of Meredith's head and escorts her out of the room.

He pauses to close the door quietly. "Hey …"

Meredith looks up.

"Merry Christmas Eve," he says. "It's after midnight," he adds, perhaps reading confusion on her face.

"Merry Christmas Eve, Derek." She stands on her tiptoes to kiss him and he smiles down at her.

Without discussing it, they wait another minute outside the closed bedroom door to see if the children stir.

They don't.

"We did it," Meredith congratulates him as they approach the stairs.

"What happened to not jinx – no, don't step there!"

Meredith looks at her husband's words with a combination of surprise and alarm as he pulls her back from the top of the staircase.

"Is there a trapdoor I missed?" she asks.

"No. Sorry." He looks embarrassed. "It's just the left half of that stair creaks. Wakes up everyone in the house. Kath swore in high school that Mom had it built that way on purpose."

Meredith finds herself smiling. "So there was a lot of sneaking out?"

"Teenagers," Derek says mildly. "Anyway, the right side of the tenth step down creaks too, so just keep that in mind."

"Oh, I will."

They make it downstairs sans creaks – maybe another Christmas miracle – or maybe because Meredith doesn't even touch the last four steps because Derek, without warning, swoops her off the staircase into his arms.

"Now what did I do?"

"Nothing," he assures her. "I just felt like it."

"You just felt like it," she repeats, amused. Her feet are still dangling above the ground.

"I just felt like it," he confirms. He leans in for a kiss and she lets him. "Why, do you object?"

"I don't object. But, Derek …"

"What?"

"Aren't we supposed to be quiet so we don't wake people up?"

She gestures, indicating the rest of the darkened house. It's packed with Derek's sisters, who've decided that sleeping here is the best send-off for their childhood home, and their husbands and many of their children. Derek's oldest niece will come in tomorrow, weather willing, but she knows that most of the rooms are packed with Shepherd family members, adults and teenagers alike.

"We don't want to wake the hordes. It's true." He nods, kissing her one more time before he sets her on her feet. "We're past the hard part now, though," he assures her. "Almost everyone is upstairs, and the kids in the family room – well, that carpet is a sound killer, which is why we liked it, and they also sleep like … teenagers."

"So we're safe."

"We're safe."

"And we're alone," Meredith points out.

"We are indeed alone."

For a few moments after that they're mostly quiet, exchanging Christmassy kisses with each step along the dark, garland draped wall toward the front door. Or presumably so. Meredith lets Derek lead – he knows the terrain, and the moonlight coming through the windows isn't helping her much. She closes her eyes and then she feels a hand sliding over her hips … and onto the doorknob that's currently poking her in the back.

"Wait." Gently, she pushes him back, leaving the door mercifully closed. "Coats, Derek. We need coats."

"I knew that," he says, sounding a bit breathless.

"Of course you did." She brushes a hand across her mouth and smiles up at him, or what she can see of him in the mostly darkness.

"Here." He flicks a switch on the wall and Meredith blinks. It's not bright or even close, but it's less dark now.

He's turned on a low yellow light that illuminates the area in the front hall with the coat trees, further protecting the rest of the house's sleeping occupants from waking up.

"Better?"

"I wasn't complaining before," she reminds him teasingly, and sees him smile as he reaches for their warm winter gear. He pulls down her coat first and helps her into it while she laughs a little, touched by his gallantry. Then he shrugs into his own, and fumbles in the pockets to make sure he has gloves. She does the same.

Carefully, the minimal light revealing his smile, he winds a soft scarf around Meredith's neck. "It's cold out there," he says by way of explanation, but then he tugs her gently toward him by the two woolen ends.

She has to give him points for his game – he's creative and resourceful, in her experience, when it comes to this particular part of their marriage. As you have to be when you have two small children and two unpredictable pagers.

So she tips her head back while he inclines his own head downward and then she's sighing happily as he captures her lips, gentle but insistent enough for warmth to curl in her midsection. Her next exhale is a gasp of surprise as he lifts her against him, she wraps her arms around his neck obligingly – always happy to wind her fingers into his hair. He hoists her higher, jostling the coat tree, which makes her laugh again; Derek pretends to be annoyed by her laughter but can't hide his own. He muffles it in her neck instead.

"Should we take our coats off?" she murmurs, realizing she's starting to feel warm.

"Not if you're still planning to go outside," says another voice, unexpectedly.

Very unexpectedly.

They freeze.

And then after that happens very quickly.

First, Meredith and Derek spin around with startled alarm, which knocks Meredith's head into the coat tree and dislodges approximately seven hundred Shepherd family coats of varying colors and sizes. Derek, alarmed, tries to pull her to her feet and ends up knocking the entire coat tree over in the process.

So it's not for several eye watering minutes that they're able to find another light and turn it on and let it reveal …

Derek's mother, sitting in his father's old chair in her housecoat, holding a steaming mug of what he knows will be tea and looking decidedly amused.

"Mom," Derek grimaces. "I didn't know you were – Meredith and I were just …"

"… going outside. I know, dear. I just want to make sure you dress warmly. Meredith isn't used to Connecticut winters, you know."

"Yeah." Derek shoves his hands in his pockets, embarrassed, while Meredith just blinks in time with her throbbing scalp. "I know."

"Are you all right, Meredith?" his mother asks kindly. "That was quite a knock to the head."

"I'm fine," she says quickly. "Really." She proves it by squatting down to help Derek reorganize and hang the fallen coats.

"Good. Derek was never very good at sneaking out." His mother's tone is fond. "Some of my girls were so good at it I was certain they'd end up in the CIA, but not this one."

"I'm not sneaking out," Derek says defensively. "We're just going to the car."

"…to get the children's presents so you can wrap them while they're sleeping," his mother says, finishing the thought. "Derek, you act as if I haven't raised any children at all."

"Oh." He's taken aback for a moment. "So you and Dad…"

"We had to wrap presents sometime." She looks pensive for a moment, and takes a sip of her tea.

"Mom." Derek tilts his head.

"Yes, dear."

"Since we're all awake … can I just ask _why_ you're awake? It's almost one o'clock in the morning. We'd be asleep if we could."

"I know." His mother takes another sip of tea. "I was just … winding down."

Derek notices there's a crocheted blanket on her lap he recalls from his childhood. "Are you okay?" he asks with concern.

"I'm _fine_. You know, son, your generation didn't invent staying up late. When you children were young, at Christmastime, your father and I had to do half the preparations in the middle of the night. And that's not including –"

She stops talking suddenly, looking shy.

Tactfully, Meredith distracts herself hanging a bright pink knitted hat on the top of the coat tree.

Derek studies his mother's face in the low light. He hasn't seen her in years before this visit and the lines in her familiar face are less familiar. In his absence, she's grown older – of course she has, but guilt prickles his skin as he thinks about her age and their distance. His mother was such a strong and sturdy presence throughout his childhood, his teenage years, his young adulthood when he still lived on this coast. Now she looks small in her housecoat, even … fragile.

"It's really late, Mom. You should get some sleep," Derek says gently.

"Excuse me? I changed your diapers, Derek Shepherd. You don't tell me when to sleep," his mother says firmly. She sits up very straight, eyes flashing, and no longer looks small at all. Derek gulps.

"Sorry," he says quickly.

His mother looks satisfied. "Good. Now, it _is_ late, so you'd better get to the car and get those presents. But, Derek –"

He turns back.

"You weren't really going to make Meredith go out with you in that freezing weather, were you?"

"It's fine," Meredith assures her mother-in-law. "I was out before, and there are a lot of packages to bring in."

"Nonsense. It's colder now. Derek, surely you can handle the packages so Meredith doesn't have to go with you."

Frankly, he was hoping to steal some more kisses while they unloaded the jeep, but he can't exactly ignore his mother's tone.

"Of course I can handle it." He drops a quick kiss on Meredith's lips while she tries not to transmit _don't leave me here_ too desperately. She may not have much familiarity with big, happy families, but she's pretty good at knowing when someone is trying to get her alone.

"You okay?" he asks quietly enough that his mother won't hear, and she's so touched that he can read her that well that she lies through her teeth and ushers him out the door.

"That's more like it," Carolyn Shepherd says approvingly. "Meredith, dear … come and sit with me."

…

Meredith settles gingerly on the couch facing the chair where her mother-in-law is perched under a knitted blanket.

 _Okay, this is it._ Derek's family has been so kind to her, so welcoming, that a small part of her has been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 _This is where I get the real talk. The Nancy-ten-years-ago-talk. The no-one-likes-you-and-you're-a-homewrecker talk._

She's not surprised that Derek's mother wanted to get her alone so she can tell Meredith what she really thinks of her.

What surprises her … is how disappointed she is.

 _Are you really that naïve?_ she chides herself.

She's never thought of herself that way. If anything, she's come to see the hard shell she developed in her younger years, to protect herself. It was work to let it melt, to let herself be loved. But did that process weaken her to the point where she thought the warm welcome from Derek's entire family could have been sincere?

Her cheeks flush in anticipated embarrassment.

Of course they were nice to her when Derek was around. His mother was probably just waiting until she could be honest, and now she has her chance.

"Meredith …"

She steels herself before she glances up. "Yes?"

Whatever it is, she can take it.

She has plenty of practice.

"I hope you don't mind that I sent Derek out by himself, dear. It's just been so busy, I haven't had a chance to talk to you alone."

Meredith offers a weak smile. "No, it's … fine."

"Good." His mother leans back in her chair. Despite her firm words to Derek, she does look tired. Her hands are curved around her mug of tea, grey hair curling around her face. "Meredith, I just wanted to say how happy I am that you're here."

"I understand, and I'm sorry," she says automatically.

"Sorry for what?" Now his mother looks confused.

"Sorry for …" her voice trails off. "Wait, what did you say?"

"I said how happy I am that you're here."

"Oh." Meredith pauses. "You did?"

"I did." She takes a sip of tea. "I knew it would happen, one Christmas – or I hoped it would – but I didn't want to push. It's such a long distance."

Meredith nods, still feeling uncertain about the direction of the conversation.

In the silence, she hears gentle thumps outside the door – knowing her methodical husband, he's decided to carry all the packages to the door before carrying them all inside together.

"I know how happy Derek has been in Seattle," Carolyn continues. "I know how much of that is you, and the family you've given him."

Meredith rests her hands on the legs of her pajamas, not sure what to say.

"You're a part of this family too. All of you. You have been from the beginning, and if you'd never come back to the house you still would be. But I'm truly happy that you did."

She takes a sip of tea and smiles at Meredith when she lowers the mug.

Blinking, Meredith realizes that nothing else is dropping.

There's no other shoe.

This is it.

Meredith finds herself having to blink back tears.

"Thank you," she says finally, though it doesn't seem like enough.

"Thank _you_ ," her mother-in-law responds, "for what you've given my son … and all of us." She smiles fondly. "I'm going to miss my newest grandchildren when you leave."

"They're going to miss you too," Meredith says automatically, but she knows that she means it. "You've been so welcoming to all of us," she says quietly, a little shyly, "and I'm so grateful."

"It's my absolute pleasure," his mother says softly.

Another soft thump at the door sounds; Derek is making progress on the presents.

For a moment, Meredith watches her mother-in-law.

Her expression looks far away.

"Can I ask you a question?" Meredith's tone is hesitant.

"Of course."

"Did you really stay up to see if anyone is sneaking out?"

Derek's mother tips her head back against the chair and laughs. "No, no. It's a different world now. My grandchildren don't need to sneak out, they have – _phones_. It's just a coincidence that I was here when you two were … putting on your coats," she says diplomatically. "I wasn't going to interrupt, but …."

"No, I'm glad you did," Meredith says hastily. She's also glad it's not so bright in this room that her blushing can't be hidden from her mother-in-law.

"Well. I stayed up because … well," Carolyn repeats, looking into her tea mug for a moment, "I was thinking," she says.

Meredith suddenly feels like she's intruding. "You don't have to – "

"No, no." Her mother-in-law waves a hand. "I know I don't have to. I want to. I was thinking," she continues. "I was … remembering. At Christmas, I spend some time remembering."

Meredith nods slowly.

"My Christopher loved the holidays," Carolyn says quietly. "It's been so many years. Time helps with the pain, of course, and the grief. But the joy, the good memories – they stay. They don't fade. So I like to take some time to remember him. He liked to sit right here, on the long nights before Christmas," she indicates her chair, "and we'd light a fire and drink tea and sit under this blanket, together."

For a moment she looks almost shy, almost girlish.

"We'd plan for Christmas – he'd get so excited about making things magical for the children. It was a special time for us."

Meredith listens, transfixed. Half of her is consumed by the tragedy of Derek's mother losing her husband so young. But the other half is moved almost to tears at the way she's dealt with it and continues to honor him. Clearly, Derek came by more than just his love of Christmas naturally.

"Oh, I'm going on," his mother says apologetically, perhaps noting Meredith's silence. "Please forgive me."

"It's fine," Meredith assures her. She's trying to think of a way to say, _I like hearing about him,_ to express how much it means to learn more about the father from whom she knows Derek learned so much.

But then her mother-in-law glances at her and Meredith thinks she doesn't have to say anything at all.

"Derek is very like his father in some ways," Carolyn says quietly. "Chris was a dreamer, and a thinker at the same time. Oh, he loved the magic of the holidays. He wanted to recreate it for his children. He believed that he could."

 _An optimist_ , Meredith thinks. So much like her husband.

"I did my best, after he was gone. As you do, for the children, as anyone would. A part of him is still here, always. Not just on the holidays. But at Christmas … well."

For a moment her mother-in-law looks pensive, and Meredith remembers she's selling the house where she and her husband spent all their Christmases as a family of seven.

That must be difficult.

And yet her mother-in-law's expression is warm, even relaxed.

She wants to talk about him, Meredith realizes. She wants to think about him.

"Carolyn," she says tentatively.

She looks up.

"How did you and your husband meet?"

Carolyn blinks, looking surprised. "You really want to hear that story?" she asks dubiously.

"I'd love to – I mean, if you don't mind telling it."

"I don't. Not at all." She leans back slightly, wrapping her hands around her mug, a smile tugging at her lips. Her gaze grows misty as if she's traveling back through the decades. "Well. I grew up not too far from here, in a house full of brothers." She smiles a little. "My mother used to say the three little girls I had in a row were compensation for that. But anyway, I had three older brothers, and it was a different time, then. I helped my mother out around the house, with the cooking and the cleaning, and my brothers helped my father out with the more … masculine tasks."

Meredith nods, listening, wondering where the story is going.

"One Christmas, when I was nineteen, all three of my brothers were busy with different things, and my father asked me to take the car out to the hardware to get some … part they were missing." She pauses, her eyes sparkling. "Well. I'll explain that bit later. So I took my parents' car out to the store – we lived quite a bit away from town, there were fewer houses then. I knew the store, but I'd never been inside before. Shepherd Family Tools, it was called."

She pauses again. "You don't have to pretend it's not amusing," she says kindly. "My children and grandchildren have filled me in over the years, but – as I said, it was a different time. I knew the Shepherds had been running the store for a few dozen years. There were so many family businesses back then; town looked completely different. And so I went inside, expecting to see the old weathered grey-haired hardware store owner. Cranky. I knew this from my brothers."

"But you didn't," Meredith prompts curiously, when Carolyn seems to be waiting for her to speak.

"Oh, I did. Old, weathered, grey-haired, and cranky too. But I also saw his son, Christopher." She smiles. "He had his name on his shirt. You know, he was a few years old, and we went to different schools – maybe I'd come across him once or twice at a football game or church picnic, but I couldn't remember it and it must have been years before. I know that day was the first time I _really_ saw him."

Meredith rests her chin in her hand, listening closely. Her mother-in-law's voice is rich with memory, but light too, as if she's recapturing the youth and innocence that flavored that long-ago day.

"He had bright blue eyes that were twinkling like someone had just told him a joke, and curly black hair, and he looked at me and said, _what can I do for you?_ and that was it. I was smitten."

Carolyn pauses her story to smile ruefully. "I was very young," she admits, "but it felt like an electric shock. _What can I do for you?_ That's what he asked. And I almost said, _marry me._ Can you believe it? Nineteen and I was as inexperienced as – I told you I had three older brothers," she explains, "and when they lived at home they made sure the boys kept their distance from me. Then I started at a women's college for nursing and I wasn't going to meet anyone there. I didn't even think the words _marry me_ were in my vocabulary. I didn't say them, of course," she adds hastily. "I opened my mouth to tell him which part I needed for my father … and nothing came out. I couldn't remember it. I was absolutely frozen."

Meredith's eyes widen. Her mother-in-law is a vivid storyteller; she can practically feel the nineteen-year-old version of Carolyn's panic and embarrassment in that moment.

"Well. That could have ended badly, and we wouldn't be sitting here, but Christopher didn't let me just stand there open-mouthed like a fish. He walked me all around that store showing me different parts, asking me questions about what my father was trying to do, so he could help me figure out what I wanted to buy."

"He did?"

"He certainly did. Until finally the older Mr. Shepherd told him he needed him back at the register. _Go on home and ask your father and come back,_ that's what Mr. Shepherd told me, and I didn't know how to tell this man that I didn't want to let his son out of my sight."

"What did you do?"

"Drove home," she admits, "worried the whole time Christopher wouldn't be there when I got back. And then when I got home I found my father and brothers none too thrilled with me – they didn't expect me to take so long and my brother Teddy had already gone out and borrowed a part from a neighbor. I never did find out what part it was," she admitted. "I just walked right into the kitchen and told my mother I'd found the man I was going to marry and she had to let me drive back to the hardware store and give him my phone number _right now_."

Meredith's eyes widen again. Carolyn's tone makes clear this would have been unexpected.

"What did she say?"

"Well, she looked surprised. I didn't really ask for much, not usually. And then she said, Carrie – she called me Carrie – you drive back to the hardware store with my blessing and tell the Shepherd boy he's a lucky one."

Meredith smiles and both women pause for a moment at that point in the story. A gentle thump from the doorstep reminds them Derek is still handling packages from the car.

"And you drove back?" Meredith asks.

"And I drove back." Carolyn pauses. "And when I got there, Christopher was packing up one of those big army duffels. He saw me and said, _oh, you're back, did you figure out what you need?_ And that's when I learned he was in school up at Torrington, driving back right after Christmas. Which was in two days."

Meredith nods encouragingly, waiting for her to go on.

"I was devastated. What could I say? I wanted to give him my telephone number – you know, how I'd seen it done in the movies – or at least say something, but he was going back to college in a couple of days, so it seemed hopeless. I remembered I had three older brothers and that's probably all this Christopher was doing, being nice to a hapless girl who had no idea what she came into the store to buy."

Meredith waits patiently for the story to turn.

"So I just told him I wouldn't need to buy anything, and I choked out an apology for wasting his time – and that's when cranky old Shepherd walks back to the register, busy looking at the ledger in his hands so he didn't see me, and starts talking to his son."

"What did he say?" Meredith asks.

"He said, _All right, Chris, if you really insist on driving all the way out the Maloneys' place I'll give you my keys, but if you're not back by the rush you can forget the gas money for school._ "

Meredith feels a tingle at her neck. "He was going to drive to your house," she realizes.

"That's right." Carolyn seems somewhat surprised that Meredith knew her maiden name so quickly.

… not like she could forget it, or any of the other tidbits of information Derek slowly leaked to her that first year.

"So then it was Christopher's turn to stand there gape-mouthed, embarrassed. He blushed and it made his eyes look even bluer. And I didn't know what to say. I turned around to leave, thinking I'd messed everything up, and he called out to me. _Wait!_ " She pauses, smiling. "He told me since he didn't have to drive all the way out to my parents' house after all, he had some free time, and would I want to get a hot chocolate with him at the drugstore?"

Meredith smiles, charmed by the old timey feel of the story.

"You said yes," she guesses.

"I said yes." Carolyn's lips purse. "We had hot chocolate, and we got him back to the store by the rush so he didn't have to miss out on his gas money for school."

"So he did go back to school?"

"He did." Carolyn takes a sip of tea. "Two days after Christmas. All the way to Torrington. We spent six months writing letters and seeing each other for bits and drips of time and then I transferred up to the nursing college in East Stoneham and he met me at the train with a ring."

"A ring!"

"Everyone said it was too soon. Just six months, and moving away from home like that – but we said when you know, you know."

"So you said yes."

"I said yes. We got married. I slowed my degree down so I could work while I did it and Chris did the same. We had a run down little apartment in Torrington where the hot water ran only a few hours a day and the ceiling leaked and there were spiderwebs in the staircase and I loved every inch of it. We were so young," she says softly, her tone almost dreamy. "We spent a few years in that apartment – we grew up there, really, together. Got each other through school and moved back down to this part of the state and next thing I knew I was expecting Elizabeth. I found out on Christmas," she says, "and I surprised him at work. By that time he was running the store. I walked in and told him I was looking for a part, just like I did that first Christmas. He played along, asked me which one and I said it was written down on a piece of paper."

Meredith nods encouragingly.

"He unfolded it and of course there was no part. It said _you're going to be a father._ " She pauses, smiling. "He ran around that counter so fast I was afraid he'd break a leg. Picked me up off the floor and couldn't seem to let go. And I wasn't a little bitty thing like you, either." She nods toward Meredith. "But that's how happy he was. And he was just as happy every time he got the news and every time we added to the family. More children … more magic."

Another gentle thump outside the door brings Meredith back to the present.

"That's a wonderful story," she says honestly.

"Thank you for listening so kindly, dear." Carolyn smiles at her. "I must seem very impetuous – a silly girl – fancying myself in love like that, changing my life around for a man I barely knew."

"You don't seem silly. You seem in love."

Carolyn smiles softly, setting her teacup down on the table. "I was. I still am. Sometimes love comes so quickly it bowls you over," she says, her voice tinged with reminiscence. "It's how you stand up afterwards that determines the rest."

It's slightly convoluted but Meredith gets it. More than gets it – she's fairly certain she's lived it.

Lived it enough that it no longer seems strange to be sitting at one o'clock in the morning in her Christmas pajamas on an old couch in her husband's childhood home listening to her mother-in-law tell her about her late father-in-law.

A few more thumps … these ones sounding of finality.

"That will be Derek," Carolyn says, and Meredith nods.

"Carolyn," she says, leaning forward slightly. It feels important to finish this conversation before her husband returns. "Thank you for telling me that story. It, um, it means a lot."

Her mother-in-law's eyes look bright. "You're more than welcome. And, Meredith … you don't need to, and it won't change anything between us, I can assure you … but I hope you'll consider calling me Mom."

The door opens then and Derek blusters through, his cheeks very pink from the cold, his breath visible, armloads of packages sliding from his hands onto the welcome mat. He glances from his mother to Meredith and back again. "What's going on in here?" he asks curiously.

"Oh, nothing," his mother says. She stands up, folding the blanket that was sitting over her lap. "Meredith, it was lovely speaking with you, dear. I hope you'll both get some rest."

Derek bids her good night, looking a little confused, and then Meredith crosses the floor to help him with the packages and accept a chilly kiss.

Together, they watch his mother ascend the staircase.

"Was it okay?" Derek asks doubtfully, pulling off a glove and cupping one of Meredith's cheek with one cold hand, searching her face with concern. "Talking to my mom?"

"It was … more than okay," Meredith says. "She's, um, she's pretty great."

"She seems to think the same thing of you," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says. "I think you're probably both right."

He shrugs out of his coat.

"So…"

Meredith studies the pile of boxes and bags on the welcome mat.

"So now we wrap," she says.

"So now we wrap."

They check the baby monitor – which reveals two angelically sleeping children – and then lug presents into his father's office at Derek's direction.

Meredith scans the room, the dated feel of the couch and desk and shaggy rug. It's a tribute, really, and understandably so.

There are pictures on the walls, beaming freckled dark-haired children who still had a father. She pauses at the picture of her husband who can't have been more than three, sitting on an older sister's lap under what looks like duress. His eyes are bright, his pout awfully familiar, his tousled curls downright adorable.

And then Meredith notices the photograph of his parents' wedding on the wall.

She moves closer and then pauses in front of it to scan the young, beaming faces. His mother is glowing, her youthful smile reminiscent of several of her granddaughters. Meredith can see both Liz and Kathleen in the shape of her face. His father is grinning, his mop of dark curls all Derek, his rangy build familiar from all of the Shepherds. The newly married couple look nothing short of thrilled.

She senses Derek coming up behind her, then feels his arms wrap around her.

"I wish he could have known you," he says simply.

Meredith turns in the circle of his arms to rest her head against his chest. "I wish he could have known you, as an adult," she says softly. "That he could have seen how wonderfully you grew up."

Derek doesn't answer, just holds her tightly.

When he releases her, his eyes look damp. For a long silent moment he just studies the picture of his parents, his arms loosely around her.

"Bailey kind of looks like my father around the eyes," Derek says quietly after a while, his tone hesitant, indicating the photograph. "What do you think?"

Their son is a sweet doughball of a toddler, all boy and all cherub at the same time. It's hard to see much of the tall man in him, but then Meredith notices the way the photograph captured the twinkle in Derek's father's eyes.

Meredith closes her own eyes and lets her own son's small merry face drift into her mind, beaming up at her. It softens, blurs, becomes Derek's and then his father's. Three pairs of blue eyes, twinkling with the magic of Christmas.

"I see it too," she says.

* * *

 _Not much time passed in this chapter, but I have been looking forward to Meredith's conversation with Carolyn for a while now. (Remember, I used to think the entire story was going to be five chapters...) I don't think anything on the show conflicts with my personal Derek's-Parents headcanon, but if it does ... please forgive me. Next chapter, time to move Christmas Eve forward, featuring more Shepherds than you can shake a stick at and lots of shenanigans. I wanted to capture the quieter moments too ... six thousand words of them, apparently. And I'm glad I did, BUT I solemnly swear I will never make you read a chapter without a fully-awake Zola again. Thank you so much for reading. Reviews are the candy canes in my hot chocolate, so please review!_


	11. Christmas Eve, Part II

**A/N:** _I'll write a nice short chapter for Fluffy Friday, I said. So it shouldn't surprise you that this is the longest chapter yet. Parts of it are some of the first bits I wrote for this story and I have been looking forward to sharing them. Also, even though I wore **no coat** the other day, now it's snowing. Well, snow-rain. So I guess it's still sort of Christmas. Everyone please stay warm and dry and happy Fluffy Friday!_

* * *

 ** _Unto Certain Shepherds_  
Chapter 11: Christmas Eve, Part II**

...

* * *

"Shh…"

The sound wakes him up, just barely – his eyes still want to stay closed. Is it time to get up and wrap presents for the kids?

"Shh, they're sleeping," the voice says again, in a hushed whisper.

This time, his eyes manage to open. The soft voice he heard isn't Meredith at all, warning him to be quiet so they don't wake the children on their surreptitious trip downstairs to wrap gifts.

Meredith is fast asleep, curled on her side next to him, her hair fanned out on the pillow, sounds that could charitably be called _deep breathing_ traveling from her parted lips.

It's later than he thought, grey winter sunlight piercing the windows and lighting up the room enough that he can see that the voice is, in fact, coming from across the room.

Where Zola is standing with her back to him, leaning into the pack 'n' play. Bailey is standing, his sad little face turned up to his sister. Derek watches as Zola extends a hand to pat her brother's hair. "It's okay, Bailey," she whispers, "I'm awake too. But Mommy and Daddy are sleeping."

"Out," Bailey pleads, holding up his arms to be lifted up.

Derek sees Zola take a step back from the pack 'n' play, surveying its contours, and decides to intervene before the sweet sibling moment turns into one or both of them getting injured.

"Actually, Daddy's awake," he says, softly enough not to startle them.

Zola spins around, beaming.

"Shh." He puts a finger to his lips. "Mommy is still sleeping."

He pads across the floor to rescue his son, who is smiling now but still holding both arms up desperately as if hoping a helicopter will swoop in to rescue him from his comfortably padded prison.

Scooping Bailey out of the pack 'n' play, he extends a hand to Zola and they tiptoe together out of the room.

"Have you two been awake a long time?" Derek asks Zola once the bedroom door is closed.

She nods solemnly, her braids swinging. "I told Bailey a story."

"You did?" He strokes her soft cheek. "That was nice of you. Bailey, you have a pretty great big sister, don't you?"

"Yeah," Bailey says contentedly, resting his head on his father's shoulder. Then he perks up. "Cookie," he suggests.

Derek smiles. "Can I interest you in a compromise?"

…

They're not the first ones up.

Being the _first ones up_ in a packed Shepherd house on Christmas Eve is mathematically impossible – sure, someone has to be the first one up, in theory, but it's never happened in all of the Christmases Derek has spent here.

So he's not surprised at the noise coming from the big, warm Shepherd kitchen, with its familiar gingham curtains and Christmas decorations and oversized scarred wood table.

"Good morning," Derek says as they approach, a sleepy-again Bailey snuggled against his shoulder and Zola holding his hand.

"Good morning!" His nephew Christopher is frowning in front of a mixing bowl, but he turns to greet them. The kitchen smells pleasantly of coffee and pine needles. Shannon and Samantha, Derek's practically-twin nieces – really cousins, but born so close in time that they used to pretend to be twins – are hunting in the cabinets for ingredients.

They all greet Zola with enthusiasm, Derek pleased to see that she welcomes their attention. Whatever shyness he expected when they first arrived seems to have melted away completely, and Zola appears perfectly comfortable with her doting cousins.

"Are you the only ones up?" Derek asks.

"Paige is outside shoveling the walk with Dad and Uncle Randy," Christopher explains. "She decided it was sexist for me to shovel, so I should make breakfast."

"Oh." Derek considers this, amused that Liz's youngest – he remembers her as petite and bossy – doesn't seem to have changed much in the intervening decade.

Christopher shrugs amiably. "It's fine with me. Plus, I'm a better cook."

Nor has Christopher, apparently – easygoing, agreeable, and happy to please his sisters.

"Can I help?" Zola asks eagerly.

"Sure." Chris smiles at her. "Do you like to crack eggs?"

"I _love_ to crack eggs," Zola tells him, amusing Derek with her passionate tone.

"What about this guy?" Shannon is smiling at Bailey.

"This guy isn't quite awake yet," Derek says, stroking his son's soft hair. "But when he _is_ quite awake, I think he'd love to help out too." He glances out the kitchen windows, where he can now see the tips of brightly colored hats and the occasional silvery streak of a shovel – his niece and brothers-in-law, digging out cars and clearing the walk.

He should give them a hand.

He mentions this, but Bailey vociferously protests at the thought of letting go of his father, so he gives up and instead sits at the kitchen table. He feels both lazy and extremely content as he sips coffee with his sleepy son in his lap, watching his daughter happily cooking with her cousins.

"Is Aunt Meredith still sleeping?" Samantha asks, intervening just in time – with impressive speed – to keep Zola from whisking the bowl of eggs directly off the counter.

Derek nods, but he's caught on the words.

 _Aunt Meredith._

His niece says them easily, without particular weight or intensity. The name sounds perfectly natural coming from her.

It sounds nice.

It sounds … perfect.

"Want to put chocolate chips in the pancakes?" Shannon asks Zola, whose response is predictably enthusiastic.

"Oh – is that okay?" Shannon directs her question to Derek, looking a little guilty.

Zola clasps her little hands together prayerfully. " _Please_ , Daddy."

"Sure." Derek smiles at his daughter's reaction. "It's Christmas Eve, after all."

…

Meredith wakes up alone.

This was, for many years, her preferred default.

When she woke up _with_ someone, she would encourage them to make a hasty exit.

But that was before. Now, in her current life, in the decade that's changed her life beyond her wildest expectations or predictions … it's different.

Now an ordinary _waking up_ usually involves at least one small foot kicking her, rumpled covers as a result of her middle-of-the-night comforter battles with her husband, and occasionally one or more children directly on top of her as if she herself is their bed.

But not this morning. This morning, she's the only one in Derek's narrow childhood bed, morning light illuminating the bits of memories on the shelves and walls: here a baseball trophy, there a school picture.

The pack 'n' play is empty, Zola's little cot is empty, and her husband's warm body is decisively missing from the bed.

She checks the time – and immediately feels guilty. Derek must have let her sleep on purpose, taken the kids downstairs. But he must be tired too – they spent hours last night preparing the children's gifts. Derek explained to her that Christmas Eve in the Shepherd house is so packed that last night was the best time for prep.

Tonight – Christmas Eve night – will involve more traditions, and more work … but one step at a time.

And her first step is out of bed, stretching in the unusual amount of space before she goes downstairs to join her family.

…

"… and then she puts the flag _on_ the moon, and gets moon rocks for Spud – that's her puppy – before she goes back."

Zola beams, her tone one of finality, and takes another bite of chocolate-chip pancake.

Her cousins make appreciative noises.

"So that's the plot of _Amaya the Astronaut_?" Shannon confirms.

Zola nods. "It's _so_ good. You need to watch it."

"I don't know how we missed it," Samantha says with a grin. "Will you watch it with us?"

"Sure!"

Derek smiles at his nieces – who now include Paige, returned from her shoveling expedition with red cheeks and wild hair, and Kristen, who drifted into the kitchen looking half asleep until she downed an amount of coffee Derek is fairly certain would not thrill Kathleen.

Randall is awake too, and Mason – who's busy doing something in the other room.

Even Bailey is awake now. He perked up when the first scent of pancakes wafted toward the table, and by the time breakfast – well, the first shift of breakfast – was served, he was sitting happily in his own seat clutching his little blue and white plastic fork like a lifeline with his big blue eyes trained determinedly on the platter of chocolate chip pancakes.

"Grandma, I think you would _really_ like the movie too," Zola says brightly.

… and, of course, his mother, who doesn't like to miss out on cozy Christmas mornings, not even when she was awake late the night before.

"You know what, sweetheart, I think you're right." Carolyn smiles fondly at Zola. "We'll put it on the list for tonight."

"Good morning…"

Derek looks up at the familiar voice. His wife is standing in the kitchen entryway smiling at the gathered Shepherds, her hair still a little wild from sleep. He's pleased to see she's wearing her Christmas pajamas like the rest of the family.

"Mommy!" Bailey bounces in his seat, thrilled with the impending maternal reunion.

"Mommy, we made pancakes!" Zola announces. "Me and my cousins! With _chocolate chips!_ "

"Wow," Meredith says, sounding impressed. "That's great, Zozo." She kisses her daughter's cheek, then turns to the table of teenagers. "Can you come back to Seattle with us? Zola's going to miss you."

Then she rescues a wriggling Bailey from his seat for hugs, settling in a chair with her son on her lap and kissing the top of his blond head.

Derek leans in close. "Where's my kiss?" he asks quietly.

She smiles and drops a quick kiss on his lips.

"Ah." He smiles, satisfied. " _Now_ it's a good morning."

…

Breakfast is a noisy, tasty, chatty affair, growing more so as more Shepherds join. The kitchen table is large, but the Shepherd family is larger. They take turns, alternating with the high stools, or – in the case of Zola and Bailey – alternating laps.

The feeling in the air is festive and wintry: his mother's warm kitchen has the same glow, the same scent, Derek remembers from the Christmases of his childhood. As he watches his children fit seamlessly into the web of Shepherd grandchildren, he's deeply grateful that he made this trip – the last opportunity for his children to see the house that nurtured him as a boy.

And he's well aware who's responsible, too.

"What was that for?" Meredith asks, smiling at him, when he leans in and kisses her cheek.

"Oh, just a little Christmas magic."

Zola, who is perched on her mother's lap, smiles at his words.

When the dishes are cleared and table wiped down, the floor swept and the food put away – somehow, it seems to take longer with more people to help but it's also more fun, and involves more Christmas carols – Derek's mother claps her hands.

"It's time," she says when she has everyone's attention, and there's a general consensus of nodding and _yes_ es among the gathered family members.

Meredith is curious, but nods along. Carolyn is standing in front of the stove, the center of a large fan of family members who are standing or perched on chairs or stools, all focused on her. It has the air of an announcement, or some formality that is a mystery to Meredith, so she waits for it to unfold.

"Grandma," says one of the dark-haired nieces – Samantha, Meredith is almost certain, though many of the teenaged girls look alike – "Meredith's never done Secret Shepherd before."

"You're right, Sam," Carolyn says thoughtfully. A murmur rises through the crowd again, and then suddenly it's deafening – cheerfully deafening – as multiple Shepherds try at once to explain to her what's going on. With so many voices, she can only pick up bits and pieces.

 _-the person you pick, so-_

 _-and if they can't, then you have to-_

 _-that's how you make it harder-_

 _-and for the little ones-_

 _-tradition-_

"Children!" Carolyn's voice is loud enough to echo over everyone elses.

Meredith is impressed.

"One at a time, please," her mother-in-law says patiently.

"But we never talk one at a time." Jackson looks genuinely confused.

Everyone laughs at this.

"Okay, Meredith, here's how it works." Nancy takes over, and no one looks particularly surprised that she does. " _Secret Shepherd_ is something we've been doing for years. It's a tradition on Christmas Eve. You know Secret Santa?"

Meredith nods.

"So, it's like that – except different. Everyone picks a name."

"Grownups pick grownups, and kids pick kids," Paige adds.

"Thank you, Paige." Nancy looks amused, then turns back to Meredith. "She's right. There are two different pots, adults and children."

"And Grandma is the keeper of the keys!" Kristen delivers this information with a smile.

"That's right," Carolyn says, smiling back at her granddaughter.

"Mom doesn't pick anyone," Nancy explains. "We all pick someone, and then the way the game works is that all the way up until Christmas Day, you do nice things for the person you picked."

"Nice things?"

"Right. And on Christmas Day, you have to try to guess who picked you."

It sounds lovely, Meredith has to admit, but also confusing.

"You're wondering why it's not obvious who picked you in Secret Shepherd, because they're the person doing nice things for you?" Nancy prompts.

Meredith nods, feeling a little silly – this game is a tradition, so obviously she must be missing something.

"That's the fun of the game," Liz says. "To keep people from guessing you, you do nice things for other people too. Right, kids?"

They nod. "Like if I pick Kristen," Paige offers, "I would do nice stuff for her, _but_ I'd also do it for enough of the others that Kristen wouldn't know it's me."

"I'd know it's you," Kristen says darkly, and some of the family members laugh.

"So there are a lot of nice things happening," Kathleen adds.

"Like if you know the other person's favorite carol, you could play it," Paige suggests.

"Or you could give them the first cookies to frost when they've cooled down."

"Or help them with their chores."

"Or pick their favorite story to read."

"Or…"

Meredith smiles as Derek's nieces and nephews spout brief suggestions, one after the other like a pot of popping corn.

"…and at the end everyone has to guess who their Secret Shepherd was, and Grandma tells you if you're right."

Meredith nods, following along. "So no one picks your grandma?" she asks, trying to make sure she understands.

"No, she's the keeper of the keys," Kristen explains. "Plus, we do nice things for Grandma anyway 'cause she's the best."

Carolyn smiles at this. "We've been playing since my children were small," she tells Meredith.

Meredith is touched at the idea of the game. Somehow, the Shepherds have managed to create festive, competitive fun that not only costs nothing at all but results in people going out of their way to be nice to each other.

She knows Derek's family's finances, when the children were young, were uncertain at times, dependent on the family business. What a clever way for his parents to make sure no one was left out of Christmas cheer.

"I think it's brilliant," she says when she realizes the rest of the family is waiting for her response.

Controlled chaos descends, with various nieces and nephews making lists of names, and finding _exactly_ the right elf hats from which the family members will pluck names. There's squabbling – mostly good-natured – as the preparations are made.

"Usually the little kids team up," Samantha says to Meredith at one point, green marker in one hand.

"Me and Bailey can be a team!" Zola offers brightly, catching on immediately.

"Perfect."

The names are almost ready when Paige pipes up. "But Grandma, we're not all here yet. What about Cassie and Doug?"

"You can draw for them," Liz suggests. Meredith knows her two oldest are coming later, and files the names away for memory.

"Or maybe they're coming soon," Carolyn suggests, her eyes twinkling, just as a knock on the door interrupts the preparations.

"How do you do that?" Shannon looks both impressed and exasperated.

"I think she has spy equipment on the driveway," Jackson suggests.

"I'm just Grandma," Carolyn says mildly. "I don't need spy equipment."

And then the arrival of two more people – no, four – no, _five,_ if you count the impending first Shepherd great-grandchild.

Derek hasn't seen Cassie or Doug in years, and Liz's two patient and well-behaved eldest have turned into fully fledged adults. They've both brought partners – Cassie, her new husband Ben, whom she introduces happily to Derek and Meredith.

(Derek grins at Meredith, noting with just his expression that she's not the newest Shepherd spouse anymore.)

And Doug has his girlfriend Tasha as well.

"We were supposed to go to Tasha's parents this year," Doug explains to Derek. "But when we found out Grandma was selling the house, we couldn't miss the last Christmas here."

"It's so sweet of you." Carolyn beams at both of them. "Tasha, I hope your parents weren't too upset."

"Not at all."

The chatting and greeting and _Shepherdness_ continue until Nancy puts two fingers in her mouth and lets loose an impressive whistle.

"Ugh." Kathleen covers her ears. "I can't believe you can still do that."

"You're just jealous you can't," Nancy says primly. "Anyway!" She claps her hands. "Time to draw."

They take turns drawing names.

Derek draws first among the adults. _Nancy_ , it says. He smiles to himself; Nancy has been deeply competitive her whole life, and he has plans to make sure she won't guess it's him.

Meredith draws next, folding her paper protectively when Derek tries to sneak a glance. "It's a secret," she reminds him.

Nancy laughs. "Derek, she's already better at the game than you are."

Zola, apparently inspired by her mother, tucks her paper away from both parents once the children have drawn names. "I'm not telling," she informs them. "I can read it myself and I'll tell Bailey. Right, Bailey?"

"Right," he says automatically, but he seems more interested in playing with the empty elf hats.

"I'm glad we waited until everyone was here," Nancy says when the papers have been cleared away and the children have scampered off – okay, fine, most of them are teenagers or more now, but being at Grandma's seems to encourage them to scamper anyway.

Carolyn looks pensive, and Derek glances at his sister before he speaks.

"Mom?"

"It's fine, dear." She smiles. "I'm thrilled that you came and it's a joy to see your children with their cousins. I couldn't be happier."

"Unless everyone was here," Kathleen says gently.

His mother nods.

"Have you heard from her?"

"I did." Carolyn studies her hands. "She called, and she's doing well, it seems."

The siblings exchange glances.

"She seemed healthy," Carolyn continues, euphemistically, "and she sent her love to everyone."

"That's good, then," Liz says.

"Derek saw her a few years ago," Nancy points out.

"I know." Carolyn pats his hand. "I was so glad you did." She pauses. "I wasn't glad about _why_ , mind you, but I was glad you saw each other."

Derek nods. The less said about his mother's reaction to his being shot, the better.

"The point is, most of us are here," Nancy says. "And we can call Amy tomorrow maybe, when we're all together …"

Kathleen winces at the term _all_ again.

But Carolyn doesn't seem to mind. "That's a lovely idea, dear." She smiles at Nancy, then brushes her hands off on her housecoat and seems to straighten up a little taller. "Now! Let's not dilly-dally any longer. There's plenty to do…"

…

… there certainly is. The Shepherd house is a flurry of activity, both indoors (where preparations are happening for Christmas cookies, batches of secret wrapping is happening behind closed doors, and relatives are swapping places frequently to catch up with each other) and outdoors (where a small group heads out every few hours to make sure there's no danger to cars or house from the piles of wet snow, and another group consisting of Zola, Joseph, Michael, and Paige work on an igloo that appears to require about 30 percent planning, 20 percent brute strength, and 50 percent hysterical laughter).

The house is filled with voices raised in both talk and song – at any given moment, there is a Christmas carol on the stereo _and_ a different one being sung with gusto by one or more of the nieces and nephews.

At one point Derek's niece Blake heads out again for the library with her father and a couple of Derek's nephews.

"It's very snowy out there," Carolyn says warily. "Mason, I know what a good driver you are, and you have a good car, but …"

"We'll be careful," Mason promises his mother-in-law.

"It can't wait until after Christmas?"

"No," Mason says quickly.

"I kind of need it now, Grandma," Blake says apologetically. "When we went to the library yesterday, and they didn't have it, they said it would be in today."

"I didn't realize the library was open on Christmas Eve."

"It's at the University, so they keep student hours."

"Oh. Well, all right, dear, if that's what you need to do." Carolyn kisses her granddaughter's cheek. "I don't want you working too hard on the holiday."

"I won't," Blake says.

"And Mason, you'll be careful?"

"I promise," he assures her, "and I have three backup drivers just in case."

Christopher flexes his muscles as further proof of this, which amuses the rest of the gathered Shepherds, and the door closes behind them in a gust of cold wind.

"Library on Christmas Eve," his mother shakes her head. "Well, Blake always did like to study. She's on full scholarship at college, you know."

"I'm not surprised." Derek has fond memories of a small Blake following him around the Shepherd house asking for spelling words. _Gimme another, Uncle Derek! A harder one, that one was easy!_

With four fewer people, the Shepherd house is …

…still very full.

And loud.

And merry.

In a rare moment of quiet – Zola baking cookies in the kitchen with some of her cousins, Bailey presumably buried shoulder deep in railroad tracks in the playroom with others – Derek catches Meredith and pulls her against him. "Tell me who you drew in Secret Shepherd," he says into her hair.

"Never. And don't you dare threaten me with – _Derek_ ," she's laughing against him. "There are six hundred people in this house right now, so behave."

He frowns, holding her away from him. "I thought we had no secrets."

Now she's actually laughing. "You are so – did you do this when you were a kid? To your sisters?"

"Of course I did," he says.

"And did they fall for it? The eyes – _don't_ give me the eyes," she warns him.

But it's too late.

Meredith squeezes her own eyes shut. "You have no more power," she informs him, and then shrieks when he takes advantage of her closed eyes to surprise her.

"Mommy?"

Meredith turns, still in Derek's arms, to see Zola approaching, holding something out.

"Look what Shannon made for me," she says, showing them a sugar cookie in the shape of a Z.

"Z for Zola," she says happily, "and I get to decorate it."

"That was nice of her," Meredith says, then pauses, turning to Derek.

"She's maybe my Secret Shepherd," Zola says, sounding thoughtful, "but maybe not 'cause it could be trick and also Kristen let me do the food coloring for the frosting, so maybe it's Kristen."

"Maybe," Derek says neutrally.

"Also Michael _and_ Joseph were super nice when we were building the igloo and Michael picked me up so I could reach the top."

Meredith is impressed both by Zola's perfect recitation of her cousins' names and her strategic consideration of the Secret Shepherd mystery.

"Anyway, I love my Z. I'm gonna go decorate it." Then Zola pauses, looking at Derek. "Shannon said Santa's coming tonight," she says, "after we're in bed."

Derek nods. "That's right, Zozo."

Zola smiles, looking a little relieved. "Okay, good."

Meredith is facing away from him as Zola heads back to the kitchen. Derek wraps his arms around her and rests his chin on the top of her head.

"Was that okay?" he asks, noticing how quiet she is.

She turns, still in his arms. "Of course it was okay." One of her hands rises to touch his cheek. "It's important to you that Zola believes," she says hesitantly.

"I guess it is." He glances toward the wall behind him. They're in a forgettable bit of hallway except that there are little scraps of memory everywhere in this house. He sees the groove in the wall that he caused swinging a hockey stick when he was still in the junior leagues. His father helped him fill it in, reminded him how to be safe with his equipment.

His father is everywhere, in this house –

But never so much as at Christmas time.

"Then it's important to me too," Meredith says, and rests her head against his shoulder. He just holds her for a long moment.

"Christmas was magical, when we were kids," he says tentatively. "I want it to be that way for Zola too."

Meredith nods.

"It takes work, sometimes," Derek admits. "The first Christmas after …"

His voice trails off.

They tried to keep it together, to keep the magic alive for Amy – they knew their father would have wanted it.

But it was hard.

…

" _I wish you would come downstairs, sweetheart. I could use some help hanging the stockings."_

 _"Why do we need stockings?"_

 _"For Santa..."_

 _"Mom, no one believes in Santa anymore," Derek says. He focuses on the baseball trophies that line his windowsill so he won't have to look at his mother's face to see her reaction to his words._

" _You're grown up now, I know." His mother sits down on the side of his bed. "You … and your big sisters too. Amy's still little, though. She still believes."_

 _Derek presses his lips together tightly so he won't say anything he'll be sorry for later. Like that Amy might be little but he doubts she still believes in Santa after what happened to their father._

 _Where was Santa that day?_

 _Who cares about a few presents or some dumb old man with a white beard when their father never came home?_

" _Isn't there anything you want for Christmas, Derek? Anything that's possible," his mother adds gently. It's like she knows what he's thinking._

 _That what he really wants for Christmas … is to get his dad back._

 _And that isn't possible at all._

 _He just shakes his head._

 _His mother doesn't leave, though, she puts one of her hands on his arm. "You come downstairs when you feel up to it, okay? You don't have to hang stockings if you don't want to."_

 _He nods. What he actually wants is to be alone, and he's relieved when she starts to leave the room. She pauses, though, with her hand on the doorknob._

" _Derek? You won't tell Amy … about Santa Claus, I mean …"_

 _Her voice trails off._

" _I won't," he assures his mother._

 _And then he gets to be alone – which is what he wanted, he's almost sure, except he still feels heavy, like he weighs four hundred pounds or there's a bowling ball sitting on his chest. He counts his baseball trophies, and then counts the red encyclopedias on the bookshelf handed down from Lizzie. If he gets real sad the best thing to do is count his actual baseball cards, and sort them different ways: last name, number, RBIs …_

 _He saves that for when it's really bad._

 _But he's not alone for long; the door is pushing open. He's gonna yell if it's one of his older sisters because they always made him knock on their doors so bursting in on him is unfair._

 _It's not, though. It's his little sister._

 _She opens the door without knocking, but then pauses, her little face looking worried. "Can I come in?"_

 _He nods._

 _Amy looks relieved. She climbs up on the bed and looks at him curiously. "You sick, Derek?"_

" _Nah, Amy, I'm okay."_

" _Oh. Good." She settles down against his legs. Amy has been real nervous all the last year about people being sick. She practically had to be hospitalized herself when Kathy had appendicitis in October. Father Patrick came over to visit and he said it's natural to feel worried when you lose someone. Father also said they could talk to their dad whenever they wanted to, and he would hear them in heaven. "But what's the point if he can't answer?" Amy asked. Derek thought it was a pretty good question but it made his mom look like she was going to cry, so he shushed his little sister anyway._

" _It's gonna be Christmas soon," Amy says, tracing the pattern on his plaid comforter with one finger._

" _I know."_

 _Amy is quiet for a while. Derek can hear little slurping sounds that mean she's sucking her thumb._

" _Are you excited?" She asks him in a small voice._

" _Um … kind of," he lies so she'll feel better._

 _Amy looks doubtful. "Really?"_

" _Really? Really, I kinda wish we could skip Christmas," Derek admits. He knows it's dumb to say something like that to a little kid like Amy but somehow … he kind of thinks she might get it. Amy might not be much more than a baby but there are some things only the two of them understand._

" _Me too," Amy says softly, proving his point, and then starts sucking her thumb again._

 _Thanksgiving was so weird and uncomfortable. They went to his aunt Mae's house and everyone seemed worried all the time, staring at him and Amy and his older sisters, taking his mother aside, and there was a lot of sniffling, and everything tasted like dust._

" _But Mom loves Christmas," Derek says, squaring his shoulders a little. "And so did Dad. So we gotta make it nice for her."_

 _Amy doesn't say anything._

" _Okay? You gotta make cookies with her and Nancy and stuff and decorate the tree …" Derek's voice trails off. "You love Christmas too, Amy," he says faintly. "At least you used to."_

" _Christmas is dumb," Amy says. "Cookies are dumb. Trees are dumb."_

" _What about Santa Claus?" Derek asks quietly._

 _Amy makes a little snorting sound of disgust that she definitely got from one of their older sisters. "Santa's the dumbest of all," she says scornfully._

" _Don't say that in front of Mom," Derek warns her._

" _kay." Amy's thumb returns to her mouth. "Derek?"_

" _Yeah?"_

" _Do you think if we all didn't ask for any presents at all, this year, that Santa might bring dad back?"_

 _Derek feels like crying but he can't, not in front of Amy. She needs him to be brave. He pats her little head with its messy dark hair and waits until his voice feels almost steady. "I don't think Santa can really do that, Amy."_

" _What about God?"_

" _Him either." Derek feels like something is sticking in his throat. "Look, let's just – talk about something else, okay?"_

" _kay." Amy settles down against his legs again. Derek shoves balled up fists against his eyes. He's not going to cry in front of his baby sister, especially not when she's not even crying. He pats her hair again, like he figures his dad would if he were around._

" _Derek?"_

" _Yeah."_

" _I wish Santa could really do it, though," Amy says quietly, her words a little muffled around her finger._

" _I know, Amy … I do too."_

…

Meredith is very quiet, listening to the story, her arms wrapped around him.

"That must have been so hard."

"Yeah. It was." He's grateful for her presence, but also that he can rest his cheek on top of her head and not look in her eyes.

Because he's not sure he could keep it together right now if he did.

For a few long moments they just breathe together.

"You wanted to keep some of the magic alive for Amy," she says gently. "I think that's … beautiful, Derek."

"We couldn't, though, not really." He leans back to see her, brushing her hair from her face and then framing it with his hands. "But we tried."

She smiles sadly at him.

"And then, you know … my sisters got older, they got married, had kids … it was easier when there were new babies, and then …"

"New magic," Meredith suggests softly.

"Right." Derek smiles down at her. Some of the heaviest in his chest that felt real again when he recalled his teenaged self melts away and he feels … lighter. "So even though at some point Zola's going to figure it out … I still want her to have that magic now, while she's young."

"I want that too," Meredith says.

He kisses her, tasting salt and then pulling her in for another hug. "You never believed in Santa?" he confirms, holding her against him.

"Nope." Meredith tilts her head up to see him. "It just … wasn't really a part of Christmas."

Derek looks sad; she touches his face with one small hand. "It's okay, really," she tells him.

"I wish you could have had Christmas magic," he says after a moment.

"I can … now," she reminds him.

Now … things are very different.

Not only didn't she have Christmas _magic_ then …

She didn't really have Christmas either.

…

" _It's such a depressing place to be on Christmas, but I'm not going to say no to time and three quarters, not with Mike out of work and things so tight at home," a woman's voice says from above her._

 _Meredith stays very still, listening._

" _No, of course not. But it could be worse. We could be in Peds. It's just so hard to see those little faces, you know?"_

 _That one was a different woman._

 _Meredith is making herself very small under the nurses' desk, where she likes to sit to do her coloring. Nurse Patsy told her she could sit there whenever she wanted, but her shift is over, so now Meredith is listening to her replacements._

" _It's terrible." One of them clucks her tongue. "You know who I saw stalking around here before – "_

 _But then she hears them stop talking._

" _Meredith! We didn't see you there, honey."_

 _She's startled to realize they've noticed her under the desk. Hesitantly, she looks up, and then she's relieved._

 _It's just Nurse Rita and Nurse Gwen. They're two of her favorites. Once she heard Nurse Rita say, "I wish I could take that sweet little girl home with me and just fuss over her. You know the ice queen's no warmer at home than she is here." It made her feel a little funny – like she was being mean or something, because the idea of going home with Nurse Rita and getting hugs and cookies sounded pretty good._

" _Sorry," Meredith says, smiling shyly up at them._

" _Nothing to be sorry about, sweet pea." Nurse Gwen roots in the pocket of her uniform. "How about a candy cane?"_

" _Thank you!" Meredith beams. She doesn't like peppermint but she does like presents – presents mean people are thinking of you._

" _What are you doing down there all by yourself, Meredith?"_

" _Coloring," she says._

" _Oh. Right. Is your mother …"_

" _She's in the OR," Meredith says. She chews a little on her lower lip. "I'm not supposed to bother you," she adds. "I can just color right there." She points under the desk, where it's cozy and quiet. She even has a little pillow._

 _She sees the two nurses exchange a glance. "You're not bothering us, sweet pea," Nurse Gwen says. She looks over at the board. "That surgery started hours ago. What have you been doing since then?"_

 _Meredith screws up her face to think. "Um … reading, and I colored some pictures, and I had dinner."_

" _You had dinner?"_

 _Meredith nods. "In the cafeteria." She shows Nurse Rita the change in her pocket. "There's a Christmas special! Kids are half off," she adds, smiling. That dinner was so good. Mister Pete gave her an extra scoop of stuffing and made sure there were no lumps in her mashed potatoes. He's always really nice to her and puts a cookie on her tray that he says is "on the house." She got to sit at her own little round table by the windows and watch the snow fall outside and read her book._

 _Meredith feels a little nervous now. She's not supposed to be wandering around and she's not sure if the under-desk spot she likes counts as wandering around. She knows the cafeteria is okay, and her mother's office, but it's lonely in there. If she wanted to be lonely she could have stayed in their apartment, which is real drafty now that it's cold out and she has to have a TV on to keep her company. It gets so cold here._

 _The hospital is never quiet. There are so many people talking and laughing and even crying but it's nice and noisy. Under the desk she can hear all sorts of things that are going on._

" _Well, isn't that nice," Nurse Gwen says, but Meredith can see from her pink mouth – Nurse Gwen wears lipstick and everything – that she doesn't really think it's that nice._

" _You know what, sweetheart," Nurse Rita says, "why don't we take you over to Peds. I think Santa just left, but there's a clown in about … twenty minutes, and some arts and crafts too."_

" _But you don't like going to Peds," Meredith says, then her eyes widen when she realizes she's giving away that she was listening in._

 _Nurse Rita doesn't seem bothered, though. "Oh, I like it when I have someone fun to go with, like you, Meredith," she says. She holds out her hand. "And there's also the sweetest little toddler with a broken leg I'd like you to meet," she says._

 _Meredith is happy to walk with her holding her nice warm hand. Nurse Rita walks fast – her mom says all doctors and nurses walk fast, they have important things to do, hurry up, Meredith, I don't have time for this._

 _So they're going real fast around the corner when they walk right into a man half in and half out of his Santa costume in an open exam room. Meredith giggles a little because he looks so surprised._

 _Nurse Rita claps her hands over Meredith's eyes. "Oh, don't look, sweetheart, it's just, uh, one of Santa's helpers," she says hastily._

" _It's okay." Meredith smiles up at the nice lady, who takes her hand away once she's closed the exam room door. "I already knew it's just a costume, Nurse Rita. There's no such thing as Santa."_

 _Nurse Rita looks sad, for some reason, and Meredith wonders if maybe she accidentally spoiled it for her, which wouldn't be nice._

" _But it's okay if you believe in it," she tells Nurse Rita. "Lots of other people do."_

 _That's who Christmas is for: other people. Meredith knows that._

 _Nurse Rita doesn't say anything else, just takes her to Peds where the other kids are real sick but they seem to like Meredith visiting and the clown lets her be his helper and everything and pass out presents to the kids. They sing songs and play games too._

 _It's so cool. It's almost like a real Christmas._

…

Derek sighs against his wife's hair, pulling her in a little closer so she's fully wrapped in his arms. If he had a time machine he'd go back and scoop up that tiny version of her and bring her to his parents' house for a real Christmas.

But he supposes the second best thing would be to hold her closely now, to bring her into the fold of his family and to continue to strengthen the little family they've built. He closes his eyes, grateful for the magic surrounding this house, surrounding Zola and Bailey and the whole season.

"I love you," he says quietly.

"See, I was just thinking the same thing." She tilts her head back to see him, her eyes clear, her smile bright.

"Meredith…" He kisses her gently.

"I was also just about to do that. Are you reading my mind?" she asks teasingly, propping a hand on her hip.

Before he can respond, the doorbell rings.

Derek wonders if his mother has actually started locking the doors.

"Blake's back!" One of the nieces shouts.

"Oh, good." His mother heads for the door. "I was getting worried about them, driving all over in this weather. I hope she found that book."

But when the door opens, revealing Blake's beaming face, she doesn't have a book with her.

Not at all.

Instead, standing between Blake and her father, and in front of Derek's two grinning nephews, is a _very_ unexpected guest.

"Merry Christmas!" The new arrival looks from Carolyn to Derek and Meredith and then back to Carolyn. "And, um … surprise?"

* * *

 _To be continued. I hope you enjoyed the longest chapter yet in this story! FYI, I am expecting 2-3 more chapters, and I am excited to finish this story up because, well, I think you're going to like the ending. But I won't get ahead of myself. I just hope you liked this chapter! So pretty please bring some Christmas joy to this grey sleet-y day and review! xoxo_


	12. Christmas Eve, Part III

**Chapter 12: Christmas Eve, Part III**

 **A/N: Thank you and much love to everyone who reviewed and asked about this story during my brief hiatus. I'm back and I am 100% finishing this story - it's my Christmas promise and my Christmas present to all of you. There are three more chapters planned after this, and I'm excited about all of them. I hope you enjoy this (long, long, long, longest yet) very well deserved update. Oh, and happy late St. Patrick's Day bday, Patsy! xoxo to all**

 _ **Unto Certain Shepherds**_ **  
Chapter 12: Christmas Eve, Part III**

...

"Amy!"

"In the flesh."

The prodigal daughter looks pink cheeked from the cold, and just a little bit wary – for which Derek can't blame her.

Of all the Shepherd children, it's Amy who had the hardest time in this house, he can see fairly now from his adult perspective. At the time, he was angry at what he perceived as her rebellion, her failings. With years and neurology expertise behind him, he's more able to see her addiction for what it was: a disease.

And just be grateful, as he would be for any disease that has been cured.

"Hey, Derek." Amy looks up at him with what probably another person would see as just bluster, but he can see the hope in her blue eyes.

"It's been a while," she says, sounding a little embarrassed.

"It has." He extends his arms. "Merry Christmas, Amy."

"Merry Christmas," she says, and steps into his open arms with enough enthusiasm for him to lift her off her feet. Whether it was her unfortunate early smoking habit or just a trick of genetics, Amy somehow ended up the smallest, a petite woman now surrounded by tall, angular sisters. He sets her down on her feet.

"You remember Meredith."

"I remember Meredith." She smiles broadly. "How's it going, sis?"

Meredith takes the greeting in stride. "It's going great."

"And these guys – " Amy gestures at Zola, who's emerged and is looking up at Amy with interest – and Bailey, who is cuddled on Meredith's hip.

"You have kids," Amy says with wonder, turning to Derek.

"I do indeed have kids."

"Well? Introduce me. I know all the rest of the kids. I could use a new niece and nephew."

"I'm Zola," their daughter says without the need for them to name her, and Derek is impressed with her maturity.

And okay, fine, has a _little_ pang that she's getting so grown up. It's not his fault that she was such a darling baby, so cute more than one stranger would stop them on the street to say she looked exactly like a baby doll. He loves watching her learn and grow, enthuses in her skills at reading and biking and how maturely she deals with her little brother.

But he'd be lying if he said he didn't sometimes miss his tiny baby girl.

Even though everyone says it – even though it's what always gets said – he just didn't' appreciate how _fast_ it all was until he experienced it himself.

"Zola, huh? Nice to meet you. I'm Amelia," Amy says, and Derek sees her exchange a meaningful look with their mother.

"Hi." Zola smiles tentatively.

"That's a great tutu, kid."

"Thanks," Zola says. "I thought it was a regular skirt."

"Then it must be. I'm all about the fashion. In fact – " Amy squints– "I'm pretty sure that _Where's the Beef?_ shirt is really mine."

"Oh!" Zola looks down with interest.

"But it looks much better on you. You can keep it." Amy winks at her, then turns to Meredith, who is holding their son. "And who's this little guy?"

Bailey lifts his head from Meredith's shoulder and regards Amy solemnly with his big blue eyes.

"Hi there," Amy says.

Bailey studies her quietly for a moment before he pronounces his verdict: " _No._ "

Derek stifles a chuckle. "Don't be offended, Amy. He's all about his mom right now."

As if to prove his point, Bailey tightens his hold on Meredith's collar.

"Fair enough." Amy shrugs. "Who wants to hang out with some stranger, anyway?"

"You're not a stranger," Kathleen says, joining them at the door. "Even if you act like it sometimes."

"Merry Christmas … Amelia," Kathleen says quietly.

"Same to you … Kate," Amy replies.

The two sisters just look at each other for a moment.

Nancy clears her throat finally. "Someone clue me in about how you got here, and why you were in the library.

"I wasn't in the library," Amy says, then nods when she sees Nancy was joking. "Right. Well, I wasn't even trying for a surprise, I just didn't want to get anyone's hopes up. I had no idea if I'd make it in. My bags ended up in Sacramento."

Derek nods sympathetically; presumably, her bags are now in abeyance along with theirs.

"Speaking of which … I'll go get the bags," Mason says.

"I thought your bags ended up in Sacramento," Derek says, puzzled.

"Oh, they did," Amy says cheerily. "No idea if I'll ever see them again."

"Then what is Mason getting from the – "

"No _way_ ," Meredith says, realizing it the same time Derek does.

Rolling through the door with Mason are some very, _very_ familiar suitcases.

"Amy – how on earth – "

"I can't take credit for this one," she says. "Mason has a buddy at baggage handling at Tweed."

This shouldn't surprise him. Derek has known Mason a long time, and is used to sentences that begin with "Mason has a buddy who…" Over the years, it's been useful in countless circumstances: his buddy who refinishes floors helping Carolyn patch the worn out dining room; his buddy who teaches math getting more than one cousin through the SATs, and his buddy who sits on the town council making sure the accessible sports teams that his nephew Joseph loves never go unfunded.

But this is the first he's heard of a buddy in baggage handling.

"I can't believe our suitcases are here," Meredith marvels. "I thought they'd be in Hong Kong by now."

"Close," Mason says. "Apparently they made it all the way to Bangkok before they got back to Tweed."

"I – seriously?"

"Afraid so. It's Christmas, after all."

It certain feels like Christmas. And even more so with the suitcases here, the ones that contain the painstakingly wrapped gifts they selected for their children. The ones they thought they'd never see again, and would end up lost in some baggage handling carousel forever. They already bought and wrapped new gifts – he can't lie, he appreciates getting some of the children's clothing back, though they've replaced some of that too.

Derek sees his mother exchange a glass with Meredith, putting two and two together. "Zola," she says. "Do you think you could go to the kitchen and check to make sure the girls have the red and the green plates ready for dinner tonight?"

"Sure." Zola smiles at her grandmother and trots off, her tutu bobbing with each step.

"Okay, she's ridiculously adorable," Amy announces. "Did you hire her from a cute kids casting agency?"

"Yes, Amy." Derek shakes his head. "She's a child actress on a job."

"Thank you," Meredith says sincerely, giving Derek a slight nudge and apparently choosing to accept Amy's words as the compliment they are clearly intended to be. "We think she's pretty adorable – but you know parents can be biased."

"Tue," Amy says thoughtfully. "That would explain Lizzie's kids."

"Amy!"

"I'm _kidding._ Geez."

"Amy, that's enough, dear," Carolyn says. "Take off your coat and get settled in. And put on a sweater, you'll catch your death in that leather thing."

Amy glances down at her jacket, which admittedly is more biker chic than the L.L. Bean influenced looks that thrive in this part of Connecticut.

"Leather is warm enough for the cows," Amy points out.

"You're not a cow. Go get into something warm," Carolyn orders. She softens her words with a fond look at her youngest daughter. "You nearly gave me a heart attack with that surprise, you know."

"Are you glad, though?" Amy is grinning, but Derek hears the undertone of insecurity in her voice.

Apparently his mother does too, because Amy ends up enveloped in a warm hug. "I couldn't be gladder to see you. Now get moving," she says, and Amy doesn't seem to need to be told twice.

"Well." Carolyn smiles at the remaining Shepherds. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Amy was always full of surprises," Nancy notes.

"True. And our latest surprise is that you have two sets of g-i-f-t-s," Carolyn notes.

Meredith, taking the hint, escapes to the couch with Bailey – only to return to join the conversation – "He fell asleep," she says, smiling. "He won't hear anything."

"Oh, good."

"So … your suitcases arrived."

"They did." Derek glances at Meredith.

"Two identical sets of presents," Carolyn predicts.

"Not identical exactly," Derek says, "I mean, we did the best we could here." He doesn't finish the sentence. Meredith knows: the ones they brought with them, formerly lost, were far more thoughtful and perfect.

Of course.

"We can give away the new ones," Carolyn suggests.

Derek nods.

"In fact, the timing is perfect," Carolyn says. We're going over to Nony's House this evening."

"Who's Nony?" Meredith asks with interest, wondering if there's another grandmother in the picture she hasn't yet learned about.

"Oh, that's a complicated answer." Carolyn smiles at her daughter in law. "But Nony's House is – well, you have to see it to understand it. It's a beautiful place, and we bring presents over every Christmas Eve. We've been doing it for years. It's a tradition."

A new tradition, Derek realizes.

The idea of it seems foreign – that traditions could grow up and around his absence – but of course it also makes perfect sense.

"Oh, that's right." Carolyn turns to Derek. "We started doing this when Joseph was in kindergarten, so you had already moved to Seattle."

She says it without undercurrent or any other negative nuance, but Derek finds himself feeling guilty anyway.

"You'll come with us, then," Carolyn proposes.

"Sure," Derek glances at Meredith. "Come with you where?"

"To Nony's House," Carolyn repeats.

"What's – "

"It's easier to explain in person," Carolyn says. "Let's just say we always bring gifts, Christmas Eve, and if you have an extra set from the mall…"

"Perfect," Meredith says, smiling.

Derek echoes Meredith's words, and then at the same time, as if they planned it, each of them turns to look at the other.

Derek can tell just from the expression in her sea-green eyes that she's thinking the same thing he is.

"You know what, Mom? I kind of think we might do it the other way."

"Do what the other way?"

"Keep the gifts from the mall and give away the ones in the suitcase."

"But those are the special ones, I thought?" Carolyn looks confused.

"Actually," Meredith says, looking a little rueful, "it turns out the ones we scrounged for in the mall were pretty special."

Carolyn glances at Derek as if for confirmation.

"The scrounging was part of what makes them special," he admits.

"So you're going to give away the others."

"That's the plan."

"Wonderful." Carolyn beams at both of them. "We'll all go together to Nony's House, then – I'm thrilled you want to go too."

Meredith nods, and as Carolyn makes her way into the kitchen, Meredith turns to look at her husband. "We just agreed to go somewhere when we have no idea what it is."

"We did," Derek agrees, "but in a way that's not so different from when we agreed to go to Connecticut – and ended up on a tour of U.S. airports instead."

"Very good point."

"I'm full of those, didn't you know?" He raises his eyebrows and swallows her anticipated retort with a kiss.

She doesn't complain.

…

Amy's arrival sends the Shepherds into what Meredith would probably call a controlled tizzy. There are greetings from all the assembled sisters, brothers in law, and nieces and nephews. From the surprise and delight of the teenagers, its's clear they remember Amy fondly even if they haven't seen her in a long time.

Meredith isn't sure if it's a particular quality of the Shepherds or if she's just not used to big families

(or just warm, loving ones)

-but its remarkably, really, how quickly they seem to take Amy's presence in stride.

And Amy, for her part, seems willing to help them along. By the time she rejoins the family, she's changed her clothes and is now wearing an oversized sweater with a reindeer on it.

"Mom made it," she tells Meredith with a grin when she catches her looking. "It worked out really well because I was – ten, I think? And then I just stretched it out and it kinda grew with me."

Meredith is touched that Amy hung onto the sweater and is still wearing it – and equally moved by the idea of the sweater, made for a little girl who hasn't been that small since, somehow stretched and grew with its wearer. Maybe it's not so different form the way the Shepherd family seems to have stretched and grown around Amy as well.

Meredith doesn't know that many details about Amy's addiction, other than Derek's role in her recovery and some of the difficulties attending it. But she can tell it was hard for everyone. She knows … issues, and it's not hard to see even in the warm and loving Shepherd family that there was a small but definite Amy-shaped hole.

A hole that's filled now as Amy, hair scraped up on top of her head, joins her nieces and nephews in the kitchen to help prepare dinner. Meredith notices with a smile that most of them are already dwarfing her.

Amy catches Meredith looking.

"I know, it's unfair, right? I have to be the little sister and then on top of that I'm the short one. When Nancy outgrew Lizzie I thought that meant I'd be the tallest of all."

"At least you don't have to order your shoes from a catalogue," Nancy says ruefully.

"A catalogue? Nance, it's the twenty-first century," Amy frowns. "Please tell me you order them online."

"She doesn't like shopping online," Samantha pipes up. "She thinks it's not secure."

"Okay, no need to sell out your mom." Nancy frowns at her daughter, but she also looks amused.

"Your mom is a traditionalist," Amy observes cheerfully, climbing onto a stool that helps her with her height challenges.

"I'll take it," Nancy says, giving Amy a strange look. "Are you defending me now?"

"Sure, why not?" Amy smiles at her older sister. "It's Christmas, after all."

"Then I guess miracles never cease."

Nancy is looking at Amy with some measure of affection, but Meredith can tell there's history there that clearly is laced with pain. If Meredith can observe it form her relative newcomer status, she imagines it's clear enough to Amy.

The moment passes quickly though, morphing into a good natured argument about whether roasting the carrots in honey or balsamic will be better to bring out their natural sweetness.

"Or neither," Amy adds. "Au naturel."

"Great, another choice to debate."

"Choices are good, Nance."

"Only when they're good choices," Nancy corrects.

The sisters exchange a loaded look.

"Less wordplay, more cooking," Nancy suggests after a long moment, and Amy actually agrees.

…

Meanwhile, Derek has broken a promise to Meredith

Okay, maybe not an official promise.

More like an offer.

The offer was to carry Bailey upstairs for his second nap of the day, but when Meredith placed their sleeping son in his arms, he couldn't bring himself to do it

Something about the trusting way Bailey curled into him, one of his pudgy little hands curled near his mouth – not quite sucking his thumb, but prepared for it – and the way his warm sleepy little body melted into his father's chest.

And something to do with how grown-up Zola seemed, earlier, introducing herself to Amy and taking all this new family in stride. The poignant memories of Zola's babyhood, of his tiny daughter and the trusting way she used to curl her fists around his thumbs.

It makes him want to hold onto Bailey a little longer

His son, awake, is a toddler terror – at least a part of every day is dedicated to detaching potentially dangerous objects form his hands and urging away from an apparently innate desire to break Zola's toys (not out of malice. Bailey seems unconvinced that breaking is not a fun part of every game.) He's fast and strong, more so every day, and he follows after his big sister with sheer puppy enthusiasm and determination.

But asleep, his long lashes resting on his rosy cheeks, silky blond hair tousled across his forehead and touching his collar (the apparent base of the gender bending confusion on the plane), he's still small

Still cuddly, sweet – a baby.

So Derek isn't quite ready to put him down.

He's only too happy to hold him instead, to let his son doze against him. And Bailey, for all his energetic daytime play, has never objected to being cuddled in sleep.

It's a match made in heaven.

Holding his sleeping son, he makes his way back to his father's study.

He's not really sure why, only that he has so many memories of spending time with his father in here. Derek's father never minded his son's company – if he was busy working but sensed Derek needed him – needed a little _guy time_ , that's what his father used to call it, letting Derek be his ally in a house filled with women. Derek was always welcome in here, sitting cross legged on the shag rug with his homework in his lap, or sorting his collection of baseball cards. If he wanted to talk, well, his father was there for him too. Problems at school or with his sisters, his fears and hopes for his little league career – Derek's father always had an ear ready.

 _I'm going to be like that too,_ that's what he tells himself now. Of course, it's a little different with Bailey – he and Derek are equally matched against the women in their household – in terms of gender, anyway. Meredith and Zola don't have a numerical advantage, not like the women in his life when Derek was growing up.

Still, he remembers how important that specially carved out time was to him and he vows that it will be like this with his son, too.

And that's to take nothing away from his adored daughter. He's been often amused by the way their children seem to be growing up along gender lines. He and Meredith never selected anything pink or frilly for Zola, but as soon as she could express a preference, Zola's pudgy little baby hands always reached for anything princess oriented – _that princess thing_ , that's what Meredith called it, but Zola's attraction was so honest that they could hardly deny her. The pinker and more ruffled the better. Zola is athletic and loves to ride her bike and her scooter, but still turns up her little nose when Bailey rolls in the grass like a puppy and streaks his clothes with mud.

He feels lucky beyond measure, sitting here in his father's study that still looks so much like it did the last time he saw it, holding his son in his arms.

If he closes his eyes for a moment, he can almost imagine his father is still here.

He can catch a faint, familiar scent: a combination of his father's aftershave, the instant coffee his parents liked to drink in the evenings, and the crisp smell of the carbon paper his father would use to keep track of inventory.

It's been so many years – that feeling of sheer devastation he remembers from the first Christmas without his father is miles away now. The longing – that's still there, sometimes. And the good memories, the ones he likes to hang onto, those feel even stronger here in his father's office.

With a pang, he wishes he'd visited more often. Now his mother is selling the house, and it's his last opportunity to sit here, to commune with the father he lost three decades ago.

To think about what his father would be like now – not frozen in time young, sturdy, shoulders still big from the baseball he played throughout school. He'd be older, smaller, the way his mother appears now. Still very much herself, yet … shrunken somehow.

(It's not his mother. It's Derek – he's big now – but still, perception is perception.)

If his father were here now … he could see the family Derek's built. He could meet Meredith, and Zola, and Bailey.

And they could meet him.

Wishes are just that – wishes, he reminds himself. He's a grownup now, too old for wishes.

Still, though …

Bailey stirs just then, a soft whimper escaping his parted pink lips. "Daddy," he murmurs.

"I'm right here, buddy. It's okay." Derek holds his son a little closer, and Bailey's small face relaxes back into sleep.

There's a knock on the door just then – soft, but he can still hear it.

"Come in," he says.

The door opens slowly, hesitantly, and a very familiar and very adorable face peers around its edge.

"Zozo." Derek smiles at her, then beckons with his free hand when she doesn't walk through the door.

Carefully, almost reverentially, she slips through the doorway and crosses the shag rug to stand in front of her father.

"Bailey's sleeping," she whispers.

"He is. Grandma's house seems to make him tired," Derek teases her.

Zola smiles. "That's 'cause Grandma likes to do a lot of stuff," she says sagely.

"True. Especially at Christmas." Derek reaches out to take one of his daughter's small hands. "How about you, Zo? Last time I saw you, you were cooking."

"Yeah, I'm still cooking," she assures him. "Samantha let me smush the walnuts!"

"Smush the walnuts?" Derek widens his eyes. "Is that an official cooking term?"

"You're silly," Zola informs him.

"You're right," Derek says. "You have a silly dad."

"It's okay. I like when you're silly." Zola leans against his leg, looking pensive.

"What is it, sweetie?"

Zola shrugs her little shoulders. "I just kinda wanted to come in here."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I thought you were here and … I dunno." She shrugs again.

"Well, I'm glad you came in, because I missed you."

Zola props her free hand on her hip. "Are you being silly again?"

"Nope. I'm being a hundred percent serious," Derek assures her. "And I'm a hundred percent happy to see you." He pats the couch next to him as Bailey lets out a soft snore. "Come sit with us."

"'kay." Zola climbs up on the couch and leans against his side. He wraps his free arm around her, and for a moment they sit in silence. Derek waits for her to talk – Zola can be quiet, sometimes, and he's learned that she'll talk when she's ready.

Sure enough, she pipes up.

"Daddy …"

"Hm?" He turns to her encouragingly.

" _Your_ dad, the one who used to work in here?"

Derek nods.

"He's my grandpa, right?"

Derek is touched by her phrasing. _Grandpa._ It's a word he's never heard Zola say – why would she have reason to? – and he feels the sting of knowing she won't be able to say it to his father.

"That's right, Zo. He's your grandpa."

"I wish I could see him," Zola says wistfully.

Derek pulls her a little closer. "I wish you could too, sweetie. I know he would love to see you."

"Yeah?" She looks up at him. "Really?"

"Really," he tells her. He brushes back one of her pigtails, trying to see her expression. "You saw how much Grandma and your cousins and your aunts and uncles loved seeing you, right?"

She nods.

"There you go. If your grandpa could be here … I know he would feel the same way. About you and all his grandchildren."

"But his other ones – my cousins – they're different."

"What do you mean?"

"They look like him," Zola says quietly, not meeting his eye.

It's a topic that comes up sometimes – rarely, but sometimes – and he's often surprised at what triggers it. It's rarely what he would expect.

"Some of them do," Derek says carefully, "like Michael, and some of them don't, like Shannon."

Zola tilts her head up. "They look _more_ like him than me, Daddy."

He doesn't know why he tried to get around the issue. Zola is too smart and too perceptive to let him, and has been for a while.

"I know," he says, playing with the end of one of her braids. "I know what you mean, Zo. But the thing is … I knew him really well. My dad, your grandpa. And I know he didn't care what people looked like."

"He didn't?"

"Nope. He cared what people _acted_ like," Derek says. "He cared what people said, and what they did, and how they treated the people around them."

"Oh." Zola looks reassured for a moment.

"Zozo …" He brushes her hair back. "Do you think your grandma and your aunts and cousins care how much you look like them?"

"No," Zola says, like it's obvious.

"Okay." Derek smiles at her. "You're right. But then why your grandpa?"

"'Cause he's from the olden times," Zola explains. "You said, he used to work here in this room and didn't even have a computer 'cause it was such a long time ago. _And_ I know that a long time ago … people used to think dumb things like that. It's in my book," she reminds him.

Derek thinks about the children's biography of Rosa Parks they read together a few months ago. He's impressed at the way Zola's mind works, the connections she makes and her thought process.

"I see what you mean," he says carefully, not wanting to criticize her theory but still wanting to make sure he contradicts it. "But not everyone in the olden … I mean, back then … thought those dumb things. Right? Remember in the book how some people were brave and stood up for other people, even when they didn't have to?"

Zola nods.

"There are always good people, even in the olden times," he says.

Zola seems to be considering this.

Then, impulsively, she throws her arms around him.

It's such a sweet gesture that he doesn't mind that she's basically bopping her brother on the head – Bailey sleeps through it anyway – and he gives her a squeeze.

"What was that for?" he asks when she's eased back onto the couch, crossing her little legs under her tutu.

She shrugs again.

"Well, I'll take it," Derek says. For a fleeting, foolish moment he thinks the spontaneous embrace is one he wishes he could share with his own father. He pulls Zola in close to his side again and they sit together on the scratchy couch of his childhood: Derek and his children.

And from the wall, framed in the captured youth he never outgrew, Derek's father smiles down on them.

…

"Nony's House!"

The name is in the air. It's whispered like a game of telephone as they munch on the roast vegetables – a trial run for tomorrow – and casually served snack foods to keep them going. They'll eat more later, but first –

"Nony's House," Shannon announces to Samantha, who nods decisively.

Derek has given up trying to figure out where they're going. In his experience, his mother has taken on any number of errands of mercy around Christmas time, dropping off gifts and baked goods and hand knit items at nursing homes and hospitals. It's part of her spirit of Christmas, and he knows this. But it's usually the week before Christmas, before Derek and Meredith and the children arrived this time.

This new Christmas Eve tradition, the one built in his absence, is a mystery.

But it's a festive mystery, with Shepherds of various ages and sizes darting around the family home, gathering wrapped gifts and packages and handfuls of sustenance to keep the energy levels up. Christmas carols echo through the entire downstairs and it's not unusual to hear snatches of lyrics as people sing along – in a whole spectrum of tunes and pitches. Bailey's nap was brief but deep, and he's now wide awake, loving the energy of this preparation. He tags along after Zola, who in turn is following her cousins.

It looks not unlike the Pied Piper, Meredith decides, smiling as both their children tear through the living room in pursuit of teenaged cousins.

When they return, they're both wearing elf hats.

" _Look,_ Mama!" Bailey stops in front of Meredith, pointing to the hat proudly.

"I see! You look just like an elf."

"Yeah." Bailey smiles happily. "An _elf_." He looks up, realizing he's lost track of his sister. "Zozo!" he calls with amusing desperation, and a moment later Zola pops around the corner, beckoning to her little brother.

"Come on!" she calls, and Bailey wastes no time catching up to her.

"Look at them go." Meredith leans against Derek, who wraps an arm around her. "Actually, look at _all_ of them go."

She pulls back to see her husband's face. "I feel like we should be helping … but I have no idea what they're doing or how to help." She pauses. "It's kind of like being an intern again, actually."

Derek looks amused. "Speaking of your intern year …"

"No." She laughs, putting a restraining hand on his chest. "We are standing in the middle of a Shepherd stampede, Derek, this is not the time for dirty reminiscences."

"Who says they were dirty?"

Meredith raises her eyebrows. "I was there … remember?"

"I certainly do remember," he says, his tone making her laugh again.

"Look, we're about to go on a mystery mission, so let's stay focused here."

"You're right," Derek says. "And speaking of mysteries … who did you draw in Secret Shepherd?"

His voice is so even and casual she almost falls for it.

"Nice try." She shakes her head. "It's _Secret_ Shepherd, not Tell Everyone Shepherd."

"I'm not – "

" _Or_ Tell Your Husband Shepherd." Meredith points a finger in Derek's direction. "Rules are rules."

"That's not what you said your intern year," he responds mischievously, and then has to duck when she tries to swat his arm.

"Children!"

They both jump apart as Carolyn leads the rest of the Shepherds into the living room, and his mother seems to be having a hard time hiding her smile.

"It's time to go," she says. "Coats and hats!"

And with that, just like the marching orders of his youth he still remembers, Derek and his siblings – and their spouses, and their children – bundle up in warm winter gear and head out the door.

… and into Mason's minivan, which means Derek and Meredith still don't know where they're going.

"Who's Nony?" Derek asks one more time as Mason eases the car carefully down the long frosty driveway. He rubs his hands together to warm them.

"You'll see," Zola pipes up from the last row, where she's sitting in her booster seat looking, when Derek sees her in the glow of the one streetlamp, rather pleased with herself.

" _You_ know where we're going?" Derek asks.

"Yup." Zola points to Bailey. "He does too but he's not gonna tell you 'cause he doesn't really get it."

Bailey doesn't seem offended by this – more pleased that his sister is talking about him. "Zozo, _play_ ," he commands, and Zola, whose expansive good mood is catching, spends the rest of the car ride patiently engaged in a rousing game of Guess the Animal Noise with her little brother.

Derek realizes, as he settles into the worn bench seat, an arm around Meredith's shoulder, that they're not going to know where they are even when they get there, since they don't know where they're going.

And he's fairly sure there's a life lesson in there, or at least a metaphor – but Meredith's fragrant hair is tucked against his neck now and her small warm body molded to his, so instead of trying to figure out their destination, he finds his eyelids drifting closed.

…

"We're here!"

Zola's joyful shout wakes Meredith – who didn't realize she'd drifted off in the cozy confines of the car – and her startled movement brings the top of her head in contact with Derek's chin.

"Sorry!" She rubs the sore spot on his jaw while he does the same to the crown of her head.

And then, eyes watering, they make their way out of the van, lifting Zola and Bailey down.

They're here.

Derek stands outside the car, Zola's mittened hand in his, and stares.

 _Here_ is a stately old red brick house of the kind he knows was popular at the turn of the century, with chipped pillars holding up the snow-coated portico.

There's snow everywhere – and evidence of more snow, half-buried snowmen, what looks like an igloo, the fading imprints of snow angels.

"This is Nony's House?" Derek turns to his brother-in-law.

"This is it." Mason smiles. "See?"

He points, and Derek sees a wooden sign suspended from the portico. It's dusted with snow but he can make out the carved letters, even though they're chipped:

 _NONY'S HOUSE_

Intrigued, Derek helps the other adults – the rest of the cars have arrived too – carry the bags of presents along the winding path and carefully up the stairs.

The door swings open before they can knock.

Inside the house it's as cozy as it is cold outside. The lights are low and golden, and it smells like hot chocolate and pine. Derek can hear the laughter of children and see the shadowy outlines of overstuffed furniture.

The sweet-faced woman who opened the door – she has long hair parted in the middle and a ready smile – greets Mason and Randall with hugs.

"Careful, I'm snowy," Randall warns her.

"I can take it," she assures him. "I was making snow angels a few hours ago, after all."

"I bet you were." Mason grins. "This is Derek," he adds, "and Meredith."

"Hey." Derek smiles at her, curiously. "Are you Nony?"

The woman laughs, glancing from Mason to Randall. " … I sense this is your doing." She smiles at Derek, holding out her hand. "I'm Mary," she says, "welcome to Nony's House. _Nony_ is – "

"Aunt Mary!"

A child's voice interrupts them. A beaming boy has darted across the carpeted floor to join the party. He smiles fearlessly up at the assembled adults. He's holding a puzzle piece in his hand – a large, soft one. Another moment and another boy joins them too – this one is taller, older, but seems no less excited by the guests.

Derek thinks at first it's because of the presents, but it soon becomes clear it's their _presence_. The boys greet Mason and Randall by name, seemingly thrilled to see them, and they dispense easy hugs.

"Hi!" One of the boys grins at Derek, his smile so infectious Derek can't help smiling back.

"Hi there," he says. "What's your name?"

"Chris." The boy points to Meredith. "Are you here to play with us?"

Derek glances at Randall, who looks encouraging. "Sure," he says. "What do you like to play?"

" _Baseball!_ " Chris says happily.

"Oh, yeah." Randall gives him a fond look. "Chris has been killing it on the team. You been practicing, buddy?"

"Practicing a little too enthusiastically," Mary says, but her tone is affectionate. "That's why we like unbreakable plates here at Nony's House."

"Come on!" Chris beckons Mason and with a slightly clumsy but unmistakable gesture and Mason, giving the others a helpless look that makes clear he's perfectly happy to be commandeered, leaves hand in hand with his young friend.

Derek watches them leave, taking in the scene.

"Mason and Randall coach the baseball team," Mary tells Derek. "There's a lot more enthusiasm than actual contact between bat and ball, but everyone has a great time."

"I help," Joseph pipes up.

"You sure do." Mary smiles at him as Randall ruffles his dark hair. "Joseph and Garrett are our assistant coaches. Garrett's with some of the younger ones now; you can meet him later. They've known each other a long time."

"Gary's my friend," Joseph explains.

Mary gestures to a picture on the wall and Derek studies it – it was taken on a sunny day, with clear blue skies surrounding a baseball diamond. A dozen children of varying ages and sizes, dressed in uniforms, are beaming at the camera. Derek sees in many of their faces features he recognizes, and realizes that the Shepherds' association with Nony's House must not have begun Joseph's kindergarten year by coincidence.

There are many children here with Down Syndrome, he realizes – this is particularly obvious when several more children emerge, appear delighted to see Joseph, and urge him to come play with them.

"Nony's House is a special place," Nancy says quietly from next to Derek. "Mary and her team are saints."

"Nonsense." Mary shakes her head. "There's a lot of love here and we're lucky to have it." For a moment she looks pensive, and then she smiles again, making her maternal face look more youthful.

"Come in and get settled," she urges, "and we'll give the new folks a tour."

Coats and hats are hung on large, easy to reach pegs, snowy boots are stamped clean and left by the door, and Derek finds himself following Mary and Meredith down the hall while Bailey remains cheerfully behind with Carolyn and Zola and assorted cousins, who are making headway on the gifts.

"This is a wonderful space," Meredith observes, noting the cheerfully bright colors, the pictures of smiling children lining the walls, the careful division of activities in the large open space. There's an art area, a sand and water table on rubber mats. There's a massive kitchen with an old fashioned butler's pantry, industrial stove and dishwasher and refrigerator set up to feed a number of people. The table is old and scarred but looks like it could seat a dozen easily, maybe two if they pressed together closely.

"It's a special place." Mary smiles at her. "And we have special children here. Some of them are wards of the state," she says quietly, "fostered here at Nony's House, and some of them are on temporary placement. Our littlest, Becky – her parents didn't know what to do with her, but they want to learn, and we've been working closely with them."

"How many children live here?" Meredith asks.

"Right now, six," Mary says, "but that number can change if a child needs us or if another outgrows us. Our sweet Lucas graduated Nony's House last year – he's been doing remarkably well; he lives in an apartment share with two other Nony's House graduates. They have some help, but they all work and share responsibilities and are doing just beautifully."

Meredith is touched by the obvious care and dedication. She realized quickly it was a group home of sorts, but there's nothing institutional or sterile about the place. Far from it. It's warm and homey, as filled with love and joy as the children whose sweet faces greeted them at the door.

"The Shepherds have been wonderful," Mary says. "For years now. Mason and Randall pulled together a baseball team, and two of the older girls teach dance classes. They've helped with fundraising and they haven't missed a Christmas Eve yet. And Mason and Randall have coordinated renovations when we needed it – Mason even has a carpenter friend who built a dance studio in the old shed out back."

 _Mason has a buddy…_ Derek smiles at the familiar notes of the story.

"You getting the tour?"

Mason himself has arrived in the kitchen now.

"We're hearing you have a buddy who built a dance studio," Derek says.

"Oh, yeah. Joshua," Mason says, and then Derek remembers his brother-in-law's carpenter friend. Joshua has been around as long as Derek can remember, an easygoing and friendly guy with a long ponytail, the kind of guy who favors sandals even in the winter and can built just about anything.

"What's Joshua up to these days?"

"He's been traveling with Habitat for Humanity," Mason says, "but he always stops by Nony's House when he's in town."

"And Nony is …" Derek prompts patiently.

Mary smiles. "The house was willed to the city by an elderly woman. She left a letter, talking about her older brother – he had been sent away and she wished he could have lived closer, so she left her house with specific instructions that it be used as a home for disabled children. On one condition – she was private, and didn't want her name used. It was an anonymous bequest."

"Anonymous," Meredith repeats.

"Nony." Mary smiles. "We respected her wishes, of course – how could we not, with such an incredible gift? This was twenty years ago when we'd been trying to operate out of the second floor of a church, having to turn down children who desperately needed us because we had no space. We were thrilled. But even though we knew she wanted to be anonymous, we wanted the home to sound like a home. And so … Nony's House."

"Short for Anonymous." Meredith smiles. "It's a great name."

"It's a great place," Mason says. "Mary's a miracle worker."

"Mason is too kind," Mary says firmly. "The children are our miracles, and the people who help us too. The Shepherds have been bringing gifts for years."

She pauses, perhaps noticing Derek's expression.

"It gets complicated dividing us into Finches and Cranes," Mason explains. "And we're all Shepherds, aren't we?"

Derek ponders the question. He knows each sister took her husband's name when she married, and he can't help but be touched that they all still consider themselves Shepherds. Especially here, where it seems his two brothers-in-law, Finches and Cranes though they may be, have spent so much time shepherding the children in the care of Nony's House.

"You are definitely all Shepherds," he confirms, and Mason smiles.

Mary looks from one of them to the other, then leads them into the large living area again, where they see a tall Christmas tree decorated with a hodgepodge of homemade ornaments and draped messily in paper chains. It looks festive and welcoming.

Mary points to the mantel, where six stockings hang.

"Recognize those?"

Derek's eyes widen. "My mother made them," he realizes.

It's her inimitable style, embroidered names and Christmas themes. He can see the love in the stitching of each one.

"Carolyn's crafts are popular around here. Her afghans keep us all warm," Mary says with a smile. "The house was a generous gift but at the time it was built, heating homes wasn't really a priority. We have to put safety first with so many children, and it can get drafty."

It doesn't feel drafty now. It feels cozy and welcoming, as much a family home as the Shepherd home where they spent the last few days.

Quite similar, in fact, as children move happily from room to room, full of festive Christmas spirit. A little girl around Zola's size joins the group, and Derek and Meredith both enjoy watching Zola's sweet interactions. They leave hand in hand for the art table, and two young women who seem to work with Mary begin to guide whichever children are interested in making simple, colorful Christmas decorations.

"This is an amazing place," Meredith says, leaning against Derek.

"It really is. I had no idea they were involved in this. It makes sense, but I didn't know."

Meredith hears the pang in his voice and holds him a little closer. "You know now," she reminds him. "You're here now."

They stand together quietly, watching the way the Shepherds blend seamless into Nony's House. Carolyn, on the couch with Bailey on her lap, is helping a teenaged girl put together a puzzle. Bailey is intrigued by the girl's long, curly hair, and bright pink glasses, and she beams each time he reaches for one or the other of them.

Shepherds are everywhere here, interacting with the children they clearly know, setting up presents under the tree, helping the staff distribute cocoa with careful specifications for each child's taste.

Time passes quickly here, sweet as a Christmas cookie.

It's not long before there are warm goodbyes, hugs exchanged all around. Zola seems reluctant to leave her new friend, and Bailey seems to hope he can take the bright pink eyeglasses with him – but he settles for a hug from his own new friend instead.

They load up the car in tandem and are about to leave when Zola realizes she has only one mitten.

"Daddy!" She holds up one bare little hand.

"I'll go get it." Derek helps Meredith load the children in the car and closes the door to keep it warm before jogging – well, walking briskly in his snow boots, anyway – back to the door of Nony's House.

One of the young women he met earlier – Jean, that was her name – greets him with surprise. "Did you forget something?"

"How did you know?"

"Oh, just a lot of time with children." Jean smiles at him. "What was it?"

"My daughter's mitten. It's pink."

"I think someone spotted it already. Let me check. Make yourself comfortable," she adds. "The kids are in the upstairs family room watching a Christmas movie, so even though I know they'd love one more chance to see you, I'll keep it quiet."

She gestures toward one of the worn, overstuffed couches, and he thanks her but stays by the door so he won't have to take off his boots.

He's waiting, when he hears voices – coming out of the wall?

At first, he's startled, and then he remembers that it's an old house. The worn but ornate wood paneling he sees must have an old maid's staircase on the other side, leading down to the kitchen.

The voices are low, but distinct enough that he can tell the speakers are keeping their voices down.

"So you didn't tell Mason and Randall."

"No." The voice sounds slightly ashamed, but determined too. "How could I? When they'd just brought all those gifts, and the new little ones who played so nicely with ours."

"Mary …" The other voice trails off. "They need to know."

"I know that. And they will. But it's Christmas Eve, Ruthie."

"I know. And tomorrow will be Christmas. And then in a few days …"

There's a long pause and the next voice he hears he recognizes as Mary's – and he hears tears behind the words. "I don't want to believe it's true. What are we going to do?"

"Oh, Mary."

He hears rustling, and then two figures emerge, only to back up, startled, when they see him.

"I'm so sorry," Derek says immediately. "My daughter forgot her mitten, and I came back, and…"

"I found it!" Jean tracks down the main staircase looking triumphant. She looks from Mary's stricken face to Ruthie's, then to Derek's.

Her footsteps slow down, and by the time she passes the little pink knitted mitten into Derek's hands, she too looks bereft.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Derek says tentatively. "I just – wondered if there's anything I can do?"

He's not sure why he said it – he has no idea what the problem is that they were speaking about in hushed tones – he just knows that the sad faces of the women who care for those joyous children are making his chest feel tight. It's wrong, all wrong.

"I'm afraid not," Mary says, her voice gentle. "It's so kind of you to offer."

The women exchange a look.

"I suppose … we can tell you," Mary says after a long moment. "We're losing the house."

"What?" Derek is shocked. "I thought it was willed to you."

"It was," Ruthie says, "full out and that's not the issue. The issue is the house itself."

"The foundation," Jean adds. "It's rotted away underneath the house. There was a pond, in the field you can't see now because of the snow. But the ground levels changed so much since the time it was built – well, I don't understand all of the mechanics of it. I just know that the house has been condemned."

 _Condemned._ It sounds so final.

"There must be some way of … fixing it," Derek says carefully. "Mason must know someone who – "

"… can fix it?" Mary smiles sadly. "Mason knows everyone, as I probably don't have to tell you, and he's had surveyors and environmentalists out here and the consensus is that it's not safe. The city is razing it to the ground. It's apparently the only way."

"I'm so sorry," Derek says, at a loss for words.

"Mason and Randall need to know. They've been the backbone of this house in so many ways," Mary says. "But we couldn't tell either of them on Christmas."

"Where will you move?" he asks, almost afraid of the answer.

"That's … to be determined." Mary's eyes fill with tears. "But we've been able to build this home because of the generous gift Nony left us, paid for outright. We could never have afforded it otherwise, no matter how many fundraisers and sponsors. Finding another place we could live is … let's just say we've looked into what we can afford and it's bleak."

"It's sad," Ruthie says softly.

Derek's chest is tight again. Bleak, and sad? Those words seem to have no place here in this cozy, colorful home.

"And small," Jean adds. "We'd have to … split the children up, most likely."

He thinks of the way the children interacted – like siblings or cousins, like the Shepherd children with each other, full of love and familiarity, and the devastation of this loss hits home.

"I'm so sorry," he repeats. "I wish I could do something to help."

"That's so kind of you, dear," Mary says. "But there's nothing anyone can do. Now," she adds briskly, straightening up, "you have a little girl who's waiting for her mitten – and a darling little girl, too, she played so nicely with our Becky. You need to get going."

There's no way to rebut it; it's true. Feeling conflicted, he says goodbye to the women once again and heads out to the car, his head swimming with what he's learned.

"Everything okay in there?" Mason asks, turning around in the driver's seat.

"Fine," Derek says, hoping his voice doesn't sound shaky. "They were just finding the mitten. Here you go, Zozo."

Zola beams, taking the mitten from him.

Meredith is keeping Bailey comfortable in the car, distracted – which is good, because Derek's mind is filled with images of the children at Nony's House, and impending destruction of their home.

He doesn't want to do anything to go against Mary or her staff – it's their world – but sitting in Mason's car, he wonders if he should tell his brother-in-law.

This dilemma takes up much of the car ride, and by the time they arrive at the house, Bailey has dozed off and Zola looks sleepy too, though she perks up at the mention of dinner. Derek carries her into the house.

He should tell Mason and Randall.

No, he shouldn't. It's not Derek's business to do so.

Then again …

But any more deliberation will have to wait, because the moment the door opens, Nancy – having beaten them back to the Shepherd house, along with the others, grabs his arm.

"Derek," she says urgently, "you need to come with me."

He blinks, confused. "Is everything all right?"

"Just come," she says. "It's Mom. She found something."

"Found something?" Derek's head speeds up. "Is she sick?"

"No, not like that. Derek, come on," Nancy tugs his arm again, the impatient older sister he remembers, and he barely manages to shrug off his coat before she's pulled him urgently across the living room.

…to the closed door of his father's den.

 _To be continued. Thank you so much for reading and for your treasured feedback, I love all of you. Pretty please, review and let me know what you think about our springtime Christmas!_


	13. Christmas Eve, Part IV

**A/N: Welcome back to McChristmas in June! I've been looking forward to sharing this chapter with you - the set piece that opens it is pretty much the first part of the story I wrote, back when it was going to be a one-shot (she says, at the beginning of Chapter 13). I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

* * *

 ** _Unto Certain Shepherds_  
Chapter 13: Christmas Eve, Part IV**

...

* * *

"Nancy … what's going on? Is Mom really all right?"

Derek glances from the closed door of his father's office back toward the living room, where Meredith is cradling a sleeping Bailey and a tired-but-awake Zola is surrounded by a circle of cousins.

"She's fine. She's just – you'll see."

And Nancy pushes open the door, ushering him through.

It's not what he expected.

He's not sure _what_ he expected, actually, but what he sees is his mother seated in his father's old desk chair, both her hands on his desk – that roll-top writing desk he loved. Amy, Liz, and Kathleen are seated on the shag carpet at their mother's feet, looking for all the world like the girls they haven't been for years.

"Mom?"

His mother glances up when he enters the room and he sees she looks a little dazed.

"Are you all right?" Derek asks, covering the space between them. "What happened?"

"The desk happened," Amy says, pointing to his father's old roll-top work desk.

"The desk." Derek is confused. "What do you mean?"

"Dad loved that desk," Kathleen reminds him, "and we were telling Mom she could keep it, we can make it work in the condo."

Derek nods.

"And then we were seeing if we could get the roll-top to work…"

Derek smiles a little at this; somehow, only his father had the magic touch with the creaky old roll-top.

"And it was a little stuck…"

And it broke? He would imagine his mother would be upset if it broke, but she doesn't look upset. She looks – misty-eyed, and she's holding something he can't see.

He nods, encouraging them to continue.

"I have the smallest hands," Amy says, which sounds like a non-sequitur and causes Nancy to frown at her own larger hands. Derek has a brief Secret Shepherd urge to tell Nancy her hands are just fine the way they are – he did choose her name out of the hat, after all – but then thinks better of it.

"She means it wasn't _stuck_ , there was something stuck _in_ it," Nancy clarifies, and Derek sees Amy open her mouth to argue the semantics.

Quickly, he intercedes.

"What was stuck in it?"

That's when he sees what his mother is holding: a creased, worn piece of paper, folded in four. It's obviously faded, but he can make out the green lines across the page.

He finds his heart speeding up. It's the paper his father would write on. He kept pads of it on the desk.

"We didn't open it yet," Kathleen admitted. "There's writing … you can see through the page, so we waited for you."

Derek feels a lump in his throat. Ten years away from this house and they still waited for him to review what he assumed was an inventory list or scratch paper – but knowing how much he would want to see something his father left behind.

Kathleen reaches out to squeeze his hand, surprising him.

Derek takes a seat at his mother's feet too, like he never left this house.

And then slowly, his mother unfolds the paper.

Written across the top in faded blue ballpoint pen:

 _1979_

It's the year their father died.

"Oh, my." His mother actually looks a little faint now. "I haven't seen his handwriting in … "

Her voice trails off. She turns the wooden chair on its rickety wheels and shows her children the page.

Derek's eyes are blurred – he's missed that handwriting too – but when they clear he can make out row after row of his father's familiar slanted writing.

"It's a Christmas list," Kathleen says softly. " _Look_."

Derek swallows hard – a Christmas list – but his father was killed in early August of that year.

"Your dad always started his Christmas lists early," their mother says quietly, as if she's read his mind. "He wanted to make sure he saved up enough money."

The shag carpet feels itchy under his fingers and he recalls how finances were tight for his parents, with five children.

"All these years, and I never found it." His mother's eyes look misty; she dabs at them with a handkerchief. Liz reaches over to squeeze her hand.

His mother is still toying with the edges of the worn piece of paper. He understands – he wants to read it, but he's also reluctant to read it … once they do, there won't be any new words from their father.

"Dad just loved Christmas," she says softly. "He would budget and plan months and months in advance. He got such a kick out of you children making cookies for Santa Claus and waiting up as late as you could – and all of you would come in and wake us up so early on Christmas morning."

"Me too?" Amy sounds very young when she asks that, and she kneels up toward their mother.

"You too." Carolyn puts an arm around her youngest child. "I know it's hard to remember because you were so young, Amy … but I remember. I remember all of it."

The siblings are quiet for a moment, mesmerized.

"You read it, Mom," Nancy urges, and the others nod. Sitting around their mother's feet while she reads to them – it should feel strange, at their ages, but it seems right somehow.

His mother holds out the paper, then brings it close, then holds it out again, fumbling for her glasses. "We had young eyes when he wrote this," she says ruefully.

Derek feels a pang – his father's eyesight never got a chance to age.

"You look, children," she says, and holds out the list. They draw closer, and though Derek can't know this for sure, he's fairly certain his siblings' vision is as blurred as his right now.

It takes a moment, and then Amy breaks the silence.

"The police?" Amy points to one of the items on the list. "On a Christmas list? Was Dad buying off cops?"

Nancy shakes her head disapprovingly; meanwhile, Kathleen is laughing even though there are tears in her eyes.

"Not the police, Amy, the _Police_!" Kathleen corrects her. "Dad must have been listening when Nancy and I were talking about music."

Sure enough, it says _Nancy and Kathy_ on the same line.

"There's a question mark." Nancy leans over to look. "Next to the word _Police_ , right there."

"Oh, your father always kept an ear out for what you children liked," Carolyn explains. "Whether it was movies or music or books, and he'd keep track. If he didn't know what it was – he'd mark it with a question mark and we'd figure it out together."

Derek is touched.

"Derek – _The Clash_ ," Amy reads, smiling at her brother. "He knew what you liked, huh?"

"We were always fighting over the record player," Liz reminisces. "That orange plastic one – Mom, do you remember it?"

"I remember it." Carolyn turns to Amy. "This was before you were born, sweetheart, but Lizzie begged for her own record player and we saved up … and then she shared it with all the others."

"That's what you do when you're the oldest," Liz shrugs. "We must have worn that thing out."

"I do remember the orange record player!" Amy protests. "I think they started making pink ones after that." Her expression suggests what she thinks of pink, and it's not very different from the small face she had at five years old.

"What else does it say?" Liz asks, moving closer to the list.

" _Farrah Fawcett's head_ ," Amy reads. Her eyes widen, her tone alarmed. "Farrah Fawcett's head? Mom, is this Dad's Christmas list or Charles Manson's?"

Carolyn wipes more tears from her eyes, laughing. "You have to ask Nancy about that one."

Nancy looks confused, then suddenly starts laughing. "Oh my _god_ – gosh," she corrects herself at her mother's raised eyebrow. "Kathy, do you remember?"

Kathleen seems puzzled.

"A _head_?" she asks.

"A head," Carolyn confirms. "It was a head. I saw it in the store. It looked just like her. And you could change the hair."

"But why would you change it when Farrah's hair was so perfect?" Kathleen asks reverently, and Nancy nods, twisting a lock of her own short hair.

His three older sisters are silent for a moment, the nostalgia palpable.

"It's not like I ever doubted that Dad loved us," Liz says finally, "but the fact that he was willing to go out and buy Farrah Fawcett's head … well."

They all smile in agreement.

" _Amy_ … Amy wanted gum," Kathleen reads, "… and a pocket calculator. One of the really small ones." Kathleen turns to her sister. "Why did you want that?"

"I liked adding things," Amy says, "and why should I write them down when calculators exist?"

"Amy did always prefer a shortcut," his mother observes.

"I used to help Dad add things up – you know, he'd let me calculate tax or try to balance the books … I thought I was actually helping him," Amy confesses.

Carolyn reaches out to stroke her hair. "You _were_ helping him, sweetheart, even if it wasn't with your kindergarten math skills. He loved taking you with him to the store."

At the word _store_ , there's silence, but then the warm, reminiscent chatter picks up again. The pain was a long time ago, the loss remains, but it seems that grief has faded – or grown – into the shared comfort of memory.

"Meccano construction set," Kathleen reads as they return to the list. "There's no name next to it, though."

"That means it was for all of you," Carolyn says, "or for him …." She smiles. "Dad loved building things with you children. All your blocks … he would be a little disappointed as each one of you outgrew those kinds of toys. Remember, he and Derek used to build model airplanes together."

"I wanted to help," Amy adds.

"You used to try to eat the propellers," Derek recalls, smiling.

His mother is holding the faded piece of paper close now, next to her heart.

"He was already planning for Christmas," Nancy summarizes, her voice shaking a little. Derek takes one of her hands in his, glad he didn't have to lie that they were small, and squeezes it. His sister turns to him and they share a meaningful glance.

 _Plans._

He feels a lump in his throat. It's so easy to make plans, and so frightening to think those plans could be taken away in a single moment.

His father sat here at his desk in the den writing out Christmas lists months in advance, planning things to make his children smile.

All these years, the list was waiting.

It's a Christmas miracle.

…

He's not sure how much time passes with the six of them in his father's office, under the spell of the reignited Christmas spirit. With the rest of their loved ones elsewhere – significant others and children – it's just mother and children like it was so many years ago.

Except his father is there too. On a faded piece of paper, his father is present in every carefully noted item on the Christmas list.

Time disappears, blurred into shared memory, and then a soft knock on the door brings them all back to the present.

"Zola wanted Uncle Derek," his niece Samantha says when Amy opens the door.

"Of course," his mother says, beckoning them. "Sam, honey, get the others together, will you? We'll be out in a minute."

Zola is already in her father's lap. "I didn't know where you went," she says.

"I'm right here," he assures her.

"Yeah, I thought so," she says sleepily.

Amy is looking fondly at her newest niece. "I bet Zola wouldn't try to eat your propellers."

Zola seems amused by this. "Aunt Amy, propellers aren't food," she says.

"See? Already smarter than I was." Amy smiles at Zola. "This is why your dad didn't let me help make his model airplanes."

Zola turns her face up to her father, intrigued. "You made model airplanes?"

At his nod, Zola beams. "Can I see them?" she asks.

"You saw them already," Derek tells her. "They're in my old room where we've been sleeping."

Zola's eyes widen. "You _made_ those?" she asks, sounding incredibly impressed.

"Ah, I miss that stage … when they think their parents are the best thing ever," Kathleen murmurs quietly to Liz. "It doesn't last."

"I did make them," Derek tells Zola, playing with the end of one of her braids.

"Wow," Zola sighs happily.

"Maybe we can build one together," he suggests, and she nods enthusiastically.

He takes a moment to hold her tightly and sees his mother smiling at them over the top of the folded Christmas list.

Then she stands, with some effort, resting a hand on their father's old writing desk for a moment. "Let's show the others … hm?"

Derek glances at his siblings and she can tell she's asking their permission, in a sense, to share this new and treasured memory with their gathered significant others and children.

It takes less than a second for all of them to agree before they're leaving the office together, Derek carrying Zola piggyback, to share their discovery.

…

No one seems to be tired.

The Christmas list energizes the assembled Shepherds, even Bailey, who rouses at the excitement and decides that this is the exact moment for him to beg Joseph to play catch with him.

Derek watches them tossing a soft inflatable Santa head back and forth …

("How is that better than Farrah Fawcett's head?" he hears Amy muttering)

… enjoying their enjoyment.

Meredith wraps her arms around his waist, leaning her head against him. He holds her in silence for a moment, appreciating the way she lets him draw strength from her without words.

"My dad loved Christmas," he says finally.

"… and all the trimmings," Nancy adds, joining them and holding a brown stoneware mug out between them. Derek looks fondly at the pattern – he can remember his father using mugs just like it.

"Spiced cider," Liz says when Meredith glances toward the mug. "Hot – well, warm, my parents never made anything too hot since there were always kids around."

Meredith smiles at this, and she and Derek takes turns sipping from the fragrant mug. Excited sounds are drifting out of the kitchen, where Zola disappeared with her older cousins to prepare Santa's snack.

Derek thinks about his daughter's tenuous relationship with … S-word.

"My father loved how magical Christmas was," Derek says. "He wanted to make it magical for us."

Liz and Kathleen, who have joined them, nod in agreement.

"He loved that we believed," Kathleen adds.

Liz smiles at this. "We all _believed_ a little longer than we really did," she admits.

"A little?" Nancy raises her eyebrows. "Kathy was already in a training bra and sneaking out to meet Jimmy Shea by the time she admitted it."

"Nancy, do you mind?" Kathleen glares.

"Sorry," Nancy says contritely, "I meant to say _Kate_ was already in a training bra and sneaking out to meet Jimmy Shea by the time she admitted it."

"Nancy …." Derek shakes his head. Meanwhile, Liz looks like she's trying not to laugh, and Meredith gets the sense the oldest sister is the peacemaker among them. She also gets the sense Derek is still mulling over Zola's Santa Claus confusion and, if she knows him, worrying about their daughter's access to Christmas magic.

But before she can press the issue, Zola is calling for her, and she leaves Derek with a quick kiss to join her daughter in the kitchen and vote on the pressing issue of whether Santa prefers chocolate chip to oatmeal raisin.

…

Even Shepherd children tire, eventually, and despite the excitement of finding the long-lost Christmas list, it's not too long before the next generation of Shepherds has drifted back into the living room and piled onto the couch, where books are read, cocoa is sipped, and sleepy Christmas predictions are made.

Derek notices out of the corner of his eye when Liz gets up, discreetly, to lower the stereo so the Christmas carols spreading through the house cross the line from festive to soothing. He can remember his mother doing just that on long-ago Christmas Eves.

The adults have been taking turns reading; as Nancy passes the worn hardcover book to Kathleen, Derek remembers that he's been somewhat remiss in his Secret Shepherd duties. "That was … good reading, Nancy," he says.

His sister turns to him with annoyance on her face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It was a compliment," he says hastily. "It was … never mind."

Nancy looks miffed.

Well, at least she's not likely to guess he's her Secret Shepherd at this rate.

He smiles to himself, and then just as quickly his stomach clenches as he recalls the much less enjoyable secret he's been carrying from Nony's House.

…

"You're quiet," Meredith says, once they've closed the bedroom door with exaggerated care.

"Only compared to Zola," he counters, and they both smile. Zola's excited Christmas Eve chatter was inarguably adorable – and just as inarguably exhausting; it took both parents significant willpower not to fall asleep in the living room before she did. They carried both sleeping children to bed, Derek wincing with every creak on the staircase, and now …

… well. Now to push aside all thoughts of sleep, because he has only until Christmas morning to make sure that the holiday is as magical as his children deserve.

He can tell Meredith knows what he's thinking by the way she squeezes his hand.

And he can tell it even more when she suggests coffee.

He glances at his wrist. "At this hour … it's like being on call."

She smiles at this. "I actually feel surprisingly awake right now. But if you want it …"

"Meredith …"

She glances up. He knows she's been waiting for him to want to talk, and he appreciates it. Quietly, noting their relative privacy in the corner of the kitchen, he fills her in on what he overheard, and then confirmed, at Nony's House.

"Oh, Derek."

"I know." Her expression is as grim as he feels.

"You're not sure whether to tell them," she predicts.

He nods. "Mary asked me not to, but …"

"…but you know they'd want to know."

He nods again.

"That's hard," she says sympathetically.

He closes his eyes for a moment, scenes of the warm and loving environment at Nony's House flashing through his mind. Then he feels warm; Meredith has stepped forward to wrap her arms around him. She returns his embrace, and they stand in silence for a moment.

"Are you making coffee?"

They break apart at the interruption.

"Don't stop on my account," Liz says, smiling. "Although, from experience, that's likely to make you sleepier."

Meredith looks a little confused.

"Our kids are big now," Liz explains, "but I remember those days. It always seemed like there weren't enough hours on Christmas Eve to do everything we wante to do for them."

Derek remembers this too. He remembers them well; before he had his own children, when he still lived out east, his Christmas focus was on his nieces and nephews. They've grown so much in his absence.

"I know I've missed a lot," he admits. For some reason, his eyes are prickling.

"Derek." Liz touches his arm. "You would have been there if we needed you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She smiles. "And I'm glad you did what you needed to do."

He raises his eyebrows.

"I am," Liz says firmly. "Really. Don't get me wrong, I missed you, but you were always so … crowded here, you know? Running circles around all of us. You seem so much calmer now."

He considers this, as Liz looks at Meredith, smiling, making clear she's giving her credit.

He can't argue with that.

"Plus … you have children." Now Liz dabs at her own eyes.

"Lizzie." He's surprised, resting a hand on her shoulder. Sibling roles run deep, and Liz is The Sensible One.

"It's nothing," she says, waving a hand. "It's just … I always knew you'd be a really great dad."

She hugs him, surprising him again, and he pauses for a moment before hugging her back, resting his chin on top of her head for a moment.

"So," she says briskly, drawing back and pushing up the sleeves of her green sweater. "What's on the Christmas Eve agenda?"

Derek glances around the wide open living room, at the towering tree, and the stacks of presents already under it and not there yet, at the hanging, still-empty stockings, and the full plates of cookies and carrots Zola delighted in leaving for Santa and his reindeer.

He and Meredith exchange a meaningful glance.

"It might be easier to start with what _isn't_ on the agenda," he says ruefully, and his sister laughs.

…

"My jaw is tired – don't you dare," Meredith adds, looking like she's stifling a laugh as Derek finds her in the kitchen in front of a large plate. "It's not easy to gnaw tooth-prints into five pounds of carrots."

Derek picks up the nearest carrot and examines the grooves in its orange flesh. "Very lifelike," he says.

Meredith shakes her head. "How did you end up on stocking-stuffing duty? That's not even painful."

"You say that now, but I dropped a set of jacks in the carpet … and it wasn't pretty."

Meredith looks like she's considering arguing, but then concedes. She pauses for a moment, and he can tell she's deciding whether to say something.

"Mer?"

"Randall," she says.

Derek is confused. "What about him?"

"He's the one I drew for Secret Shepherd."

"Oh." Derek tilts his head. "I thought you weren't going to tell me. _It's Secret Shepherd, not Tell-Your-Husband Shepherd_ ," he repeats.

"I wasn't. I'm telling you because … I know you're trying to decide whether to talk to him about Nony's House."

Derek nods.

"And I'm signed up to do nice things for him," she says.

"How's it going so far?"

"Well, I volunteered to gnaw on the carrots so he wouldn't have to," Meredith says, "and I told Samantha and Emily that they should think carefully before they dye their hair blue … he seemed to appreciate that."

Derek is impressed. He's not sure he's done as much for Nancy – complimenting her reading seemed to offend her.

Well. Other than keeping the news of Nony's House from her husband and, effectively, from her, that is.

Meredith is looking at him, silently.

"Why did you tell me who you drew for Secret Shepherd?" Derek asks.

She doesn't say anything.

"You think I should tell Randall," Derek says slowly, realizing.

"I just think … some nice things are easier than others," she says.

He considers this.

"Mary thinks it will upset them, because they'll want to help, but there's no way to help."

"But you think they'd want to decide that themselves?" Meredith asks. "And that she can't really know if there's a way to help until they find out?"

Slowly, he nods. "When did you get so wise?"

"I'm always wise," she says, " _you're_ just usually distracted."

He can't really argue with that; he leans in for a kiss, proving his point, only to yelp when she sticks a carrot in his mouth instead.

"That was cold," he protests.

"I was just teasing."

"No, I mean literally cold." He frowns at the carrot. "No wonder your jaw is sore."

Meredith gestures to the plate of carrots. "There's plenty of work for two, Derek," she says.

He picks up a carrot, studies it for a moment, and then gets to work, mulling over his wife's words as they gnaw in tandem.

…

Finally, the last of the Christmas Eve preparations complete, Derek stands in the large warm kitchen he hasn't seen for ten Christmases and studies the results of their work.

The cookies have been bitten, the carrots gnawed.

Nature has done its part, frosting the windows to wintry perfection.

And on the old mustard-colored refrigerator his mother insists works better than any newfangled replacement, the rescued 1979 Christmas list hangs in a place of honor under a magnet shaped like a candy cane.

It's Christmas, from corner to corner.

But the warmth of this house, and its memories, just makes him think of the other house from this evening. He sips cider that's long gone cold, having encouraged Meredith to go up ahead of him to prepare for bed. She seemed to know he needed a moment, and didn't question it.

Now he stands in the kitchen of his childhood, listening to the familiar voices from the other room.

Steeling himself, he moves toward the sound.

In the glow of the Christmas tree, smelling of pine and sugar, his brothers-in-law are arguing good-naturedly in front of the hearth. Each man is holding one large black rubber boot: they're preparing to make faintly muddy bootprints from the fireplace, a tradition Derek's father started and his mother valiantly put up with because it so obviously delighted the children.

Randall looks up expectantly and Derek sees some of Joseph's joyous spirit in his brother-in-law's face. He swallows hard.

 _Some nice things are easier than others._

"Guys," Derek says, "can I talk to you for a minute?"

* * *

 _ **To be continued. Can all these loose ends be wrapped up by Christmas? Thank you so much for reading and I hope you will review, because reviews are like lukewarm spiced cider on Christmas Eve: delicious. See you soon for the next update!**_


	14. Christmas Eve, Part V

**A/N:** Thank you for the great feedback on the last chapter! This story warms my Christmas-loving heart, and I am so happy that others are enjoying it too. We're closing in on the home stretch, here. It's still Christmas Eve, but it won't be for long...

 _...and a wild beta reader appears: many thanks to **SBWomenofMarvel** for her sharp eye and helpful comments! _

* * *

**_Unto Certain Shepherds_  
Chapter 14: Christmas Eve, Part V**

...

* * *

Derek has known his brothers-in-law a long time. Kathleen and Nancy each married before starting medical school, and dated through college. Derek was a high school sophomore the first time he met Mason. His sister's boyfriend came for Christmas dinner and even though he couldn't take his eyes off Kathleen, he still found enough time to coach Derek on his swing. Randall, the next Christmas, joined them, even acting impressed with Derek's varsity stats.

Derek wasn't very surprised, years later, when both men turned out to be such good fathers.

Randall and Mason were practically as close as Nancy and Kathleen, for as long as Derek could remember. They were a tight foursome. With Liz and her husband in Pennsylvania for her residency, Mason and Randall were the closest thing Derek had to brothers. They included him in the conversations he couldn't have with his sisters, tossed a football with him on Thanksgiving and welcomed him into their children's lives as a beloved uncle.

For many years they were, for all intents and purposes, his brothers.

He hasn't seen them in a long time. But that doesn't make it any easier to deliver the news.

They're both quiet, sitting by the stocking-decorated hearth, as he explains.

"I didn't want to ruin Christmas," he says.

"No, I'm glad you told us." Randall shakes his head. "Maybe there's something we can do. Stop the condemnation, or – "

"Not if it's what it sounds like," Mason says. "I have a buddy on the planning commission over in Greenhaven who had to condemn another house from the same time. Something about the way they built on ponds back then, I don't know – but that was a country club." His face shows what he thinks of that use for the house. "Not exactly a tragedy when it was flattened."

Derek knows what he means. The children of Nony's House, so clearly a family, displaced, on Christmas?

"There has to be somewhere they can go instead. Another location?" Derek looks from one brother-in-law to another.

Mason shakes his head. "Mary's a sweetheart, but don't let that fool you. She has business savvy coming out her … apron," he says. "She must have been looking."

Derek nods, realizing his brother-in-law is right.

"You have to have a certain number of bathrooms per bedroom, and all that junk," Mason explains. "Some of the kids are fostered, you know, and there are all these regulations. There just aren't a lot of houses that can meet those specifications. And those that can – well, they can't exactly afford it."

"But they can't split up the kids," Randall says, rubbing his chin. "They just can't."

Mason and Derek exchange a glance. They don't speak, but each knows the other recognizes that Randall must be thinking about his own son. Derek thinks about him too: his nephew Joseph has a whole family devoted to him, a warm place to sleep and grow and a supportive community cheering him on.

And that's what the children at Nony's House have, too … together.

Derek thinks about the other children, too, waking up on Christmas morning, not knowing their home is going to disappear, and his chest aches.

For long moments, no one speaks.

They look up at one as footsteps approach – Nancy, holding a mug in her hand.

"You know, my kids may be teenagers but if we don't – " she stops talking when she sees the expressions on their faces. She turns to her husband. "Randy? What's going on?"

Derek's brother-in-law looks grim. "Sit down, Nance." He pats the carpet next to him and, after a moment, Nancy settles down beside him, folding her legs under her.

And Derek watches as one more person learns Nony House's fate.

"It's terrible." Nancy has tears in her eyes. "There has to be something we can do."

Randall takes her hand in his.

"A creative solution," Nancy insists. "A _Shepherd_ solution – Derek, you remember, don't you?"

Derek smiles a little at the memory. "Nance, I don't know if turning a Little Bo Peep costume into a Superman costume is going to help us now, even if that was one of Mom's best sewing jobs."

"Mom," Nancy repeats, turning from one man to the other. "That's it. _Mom_." She throws her hands up in the air when no one seems to pick up her thread. "Mom's house! Why can't Nony's House move here?"

"It's not your mom's house anymore," Randall says gently. "It's sold."

"But – not yet," Nancy's voice fades a little.

"The movers are coming the day after Christmas," Randall reminds her.

"She could change her mind?"

"Not really. It's a done deal," Mason says grimly. "They could sue Mom – force the sale anyway, and then no house and extra losses – "

Derek glances at his sister's disappointed face.

"It was a good idea," he says.

"There's a family waiting for the house," Randall tells Nancy, still holding her hand. "You know your mom's stayed in touch with them, and – "

"Of course she has." Nancy's tone is affectionate, and she turns to Derek. "She's into the whole _new family making memories_ thing, you know? We met them … they have four kids, and the guy got an offer they couldn't refuse," she smiles a little at this, sounding like it wasn't her choice of words, "in Stamford. They're moving from Houston – he's some muckety-muck at Bethlehem Bank."

"Not just a muckety-muck," Mason cuts in, "a lawyer. I don't think he'll take kindly to losing his house on boxing day – not when he's due to move in with four kids."

"She's not going to want to take their house away anyway," Nancy says.

"And even if she did," Randall says, "the logistics of it, the timing – Nony's House would need to figure out all of that, and even if we helped … the financing, and the legal clearance – well, it would be too late. The house would already be out of Mom's hands."

The four Shepherds – two by birth, two by marriage – sit quietly for a moment.

Finally, Derek turns to his brother-in-law, his last hope sounding a silly to his ears, but he tries anyway: "Mason, is there any way you – "

His brother-in-law shakes his head.

"Believe me, Derek, I wish I had a buddy who could help."

Derek nods. He knew the answer already; he just had to ask.

Just had to confirm what he originally feared ... that what they really need is more than just a well-connected friend.

They need a miracle.

…

Derek trudges his way up the long staircase, leaving his sister and brothers-in-law in the living room. His preparations for tomorrow morning are done, and the gloom of the news he had to relay fades slightly as he makes his way to his childhood bedroom, thinking of Christmas morning and his children's excitement.

Both children are sleeping peacefully when he tiptoes into the room, but his bed is empty. Meredith's pajamas are gone, though. Smiling at that thought, he takes his own Christmas pajamas and heads for the bathroom down the hall.

The door is closed – there's always a line outside Shepherd bathrooms, even with the new one they built when Derek was in high school. Lightly, he raps on the door.

There's a slight scuffling sound, and then it opens.

"Hi," Meredith says, smiling around the toothbrush in her mouth.

"Hi." He surveys his options and drops a kiss on the top of her head.

"Did you peek in your bedroom? They're both still sleeping." Meredith leans back against the blue porcelain sink of his childhood bathroom, with its chipped tiles and familiar flowered curtains at the window. "And they're facing each other. How are they so cute?"

"They practice," Derek suggests, leaning across his wife to pick up the toothpaste, "when we're not here."

"Mm. Makes sense." Meredith brushes for another few moments, then rinses her mouth.

He changes quickly, feeling decidedly Christmas-y once he's in flannel.

Christmas-y and, as he watches his wife, good too. Very good.

"Mer…"

She tilts her head up to look at him.

"There are no children in this bathroom."

She laughs a little at his expression. "Derek, I love seeing where you grew up, I really do. I even love this bathroom. But …."

But it's not the purpose built bathroom in their house in Seattle, where they've spent many a time … not brushing their teeth.

He gets that.

"I'm flattered. I am." She reaches up to touch his cheek. "But are you really turned on right now?"

Derek looks from his wife, who is wearing flannel Christmas pajamas and a messy ponytail, to the blue and white flowered shower curtain on the small bathtub.

"I'm going to take the Fifth."

Meredith smiles at him. "There's nothing incriminating about your … sex drive," she says, reaching up to link her arms around his neck. "And I'm not saying no."

"That's not what girls usually said in this house," he responds in a purposefully mournful tone, and Meredith laughs.

"They had no idea what they were missing," she says, stretching up to plant a toothpaste-flavored kiss on his lips. "Besides … more for me. _Lots_ for me," she adds huskily and he closes his eyes.

"You're not helping the situation," he points out, drawing her close and enjoying the feel of her against him.

"That's what you think." She takes his face between her palms, pulling him close for another kiss.

A loud knock interrupts them.

"Derek? This isn't your en-suite, you know. The rest of us have to brush our teeth too."

Blushing, Meredith presses her fingers to her mouth.

"Just a minute, Nancy," Derek calls dutifully.

"Hurry up," his sister adds bluntly before, mercifully, her footsteps pad away down the hall.

Meredith waits until it's quiet to move her hand, letting some of her laughter escape.

"That was close."

Derek nods solemnly. The shower curtain may not have killed the mood, but …

"It's okay. I'm actually pretty tired." Meredith stretches a little. "More tired than I should be."

"It's Christmas," Derek reminds her. "That's enough reason to be tired."

"I'm not an elf."

"I beg to differ." He hoists her into his arms and she laughs a little, pushing at him.

"That's not really fair," she points out, though she doesn't protest when he dips his head to kiss her.

"You know what they say. Nothing's fair in love and war."

"All's fair," Meredith corrects him. " _All_ 's fair in love and war."

"So you do agree." He kisses her again. "This is fair."

"Fine … you win this round." She kisses him this time, just before he sets her gently on her feet. "But, Derek?"

He nods, tucking a lock of her fragrant hair behind her ear.

"When we're back in Seattle … when we have a little more privacy … I'm going to win."

"That's fair."

"And there's going to be a _lot_ more than one round," she adds.

Well.

He's not going to argue with that.

…

Meredith kisses him goodnight sleepily – twice – and then curls to the wall. Based on the sounds he prefers to call _sleepy breathing_ , she's asleep before her head hits the pillow. Derek settles in behind her, pulling her small, warm body against his. She fits perfectly: two flannel spoons in a drawer.

Surrounded by the three most important people, each sleeping soundly, he feels a sense of peace. It's almost perfect, it's almost everything, but the nagging sense of sadness about Nony's House tugs at the corners of his mind. There has to be some way – but he's been gone for years, his brothers-in-law know better, and if there were … they would know.

He thinks about the new family moving into this house. Knowing his mother, she's already sent them homemade cookies. Maybe warm scarves for the cold Connecticut winters. She'll be planning a welcome basket. She'll already be picturing them growing up in the home she lived in for more than four decades.

But she doesn't know about Nony's House.

He sighs and Meredith seems to sense it, burrowing closer to him even as she stays asleep. Grateful, he holds her close and lets himself start to drift off.

He's either asleep or close to it, entering a dream about holding the retractor his first month of internship, when he feels a small hand patting his back.

"Daddy? Are you awake?"

He rolls over to see Zola standing next to the bed in her Christmas pajamas, a look of worry on her small face.

"I'm awake," he whispers. "What's wrong, Zo?"

She shrugs a little, playing with the cuff of her pajama top.

Concerned, Derek makes his careful way out of bed. There's an old armchair under the window of his childhood room; it was his aunt Tessie's, and it had flowers, but his mother covered it over with ticking stripes for Derek. Navy ticking stripes, but they're faded to a somewhat lighter blue now.

He leads Zola to the chair. "What's going on, sweetie?" he asks softly, not wanting to wake either Meredith or Bailey, but hoping to settle his daughter's discontent quickly, and peacefully, so he can put her back to bed.

Zola shrugs again.

Derek draws her between his knees, taking both her hands. "Did you have a bad dream?" he tries.

Solemnly, Zola shakes her head, braids swinging.

"You just woke up," Derek summarizes. "Okay. Did anything wake you?"

Zola looks like she's considering the question. "Daddy?" she asks instead of answering.

He nods.

"If I don't think S-word is real – I mean, if I don't believe in Santa … will you be mad at me?"

"No," he breathes, "no, Zozo, of course not. I would never be mad at you for anything you believed. Or didn't believe," he adds.

She looks conflicted.

He rests a hand on her small shoulder. "I won't be mad at you, Zozo. And neither will Mommy, or anyone else in this house." He pauses. "Do you want to talk about … S-word? I mean, Santa?"

Zola shakes her head. "It's just that Christmas is almost here," she says. "And I don't know if Santa's gonna bring me the present I asked for. "

Derek isn't sure what to say. He doesn't want to mislead her. He knew convincing Zola of Santa's magic was a long shot, but admittedly he was hoping it would work. His daughter deserves that magic.

He remembers her words: _So then if I do get what I asked for, that means the Connecticut Santa did talk to the North Pole Santa._

The odds of that now, when no one has been able to find out what she asked for?

 _Slim to none_ would be generous. More like miraculous.

Derek smiles at his daughter, playing with the end of one of her braids.

"So ... is that why you couldn't sleep?" he asks, sidestepping the issue a little.

She nods. "Sam thinks Santa's real," she reports, "and Shannon, and I think they want me to too. They kept asking what I wanted Santa to bring me."

Derek is touched at this combination of his daughter's cleverness and her innocence, all at once: recognizing that her cousins wanted her to believe, but still thinking that the teenagers themselves believed too.

He thinks of his nieces as children, and the idea that they tried to get the information from Zola that he himself has been hoping for too, with the goal of preserving Santa's magic – well. He's touched all over again.

"Did you tell them?" he asks.

Zola shakes her head. "It's a secret what you ask Santa for, Daddy," she explains, "and that counts if it's vice-Santa too."

"Okay." Derek nods. "Zozo, I don't know what you asked vice-Santa to bring you for Christmas, but it's not Christmas yet. Maybe you don't have to make up your mind yet if Santa is real."

Zola considers this.

"Whatever you decide is okay. I promise."

"Really?"

"Really." He kisses her forehead. "Do you think you can go back to sleep now? It's very late, sweetie. It's almost midnight."

"At midnight … it will be tomorrow," Zola says with concentration. "And tomorrow is Christmas, so at midnight it will be Christmas! Right?"

"Right," he says, stroking one soft cheek.

"Can I stay awake, Daddy?" Zola turns pleading eyes up to him. "For the minute Christmas comes?"

He blinks, and the years fall away.

" _Dad? What are you doing?"_

 _His father looks up from a pile of wood and nails, and what looks like a big stack of directions. He's obviously building something; from the look of some of the painted wood, bright and cheery and kid-like, it must be for Amy._

" _It's late, son."_

 _Derek hovers in the doorway of his father's study. He's known for a while now that Santa doesn't build the toys they open on Christmas Day. He's just never seen his dad actually doing it before, or thought about how much work it must be. Now that he looks closely, he recognizes what he's building – a playset in red and yellow that you can climb up and slide right back down again. Amy saw it in a catalogue a few months ago, those ones his mother usually throws out before they see them, and begged and begged._

 _Derek smiles a little now thinking about how excited his sister will be when she opens the wrapping paper. Amy still believes in Santa Claus – she's only four – so she won't know their dad is the one who built the playset._

 _It will just feel like magic._

" _It's almost midnight," his father is saying now. "Your mother's gone up to bed. She won't be happy with either of us if you fall asleep on your stocking tomorrow morning."_

" _I won't," Derek promises. "And anyway, we can finish faster if I stay up and help. You always say building is easier with two."_

 _His father looks at him for a moment, and then smiles. "You're right. I do say that." He pats the carpet next to him. "Come and have a seat. Let's try to finish this by Christmas." He pauses. "Have you ever stayed up for Christmas?" he asks._

" _What do you mean?"_

" _Until midnight," he says. "When the day changes over and it's not Christmas Eve anymore, it's Christmas Day."_

 _Derek shakes his head. He's not a baby, he's almost twelve – practically a teenager, which is basically a grownup. And he's seen midnight lots of times, like New Year's, and that time over the summer when Mark found that stack of magazines in his parents' garage and they stayed up real late looking. But he's never stayed up until Christmas Day._

 _He and his sisters never want to go bed early on Christmas Eve, of course, and they never have to, but somehow between the carols and the cookies and the stories and the excitement over what will happen when they wake up, he's never found himself up past midnight._

 _His father looks like he's considering this._

" _I'm not tired," Derek says boldly; it's not really true. But he'd like to stay up._

" _Then let's put your hands to good use." His father pats the rug again. "Come and look at these directions with your young eyes, son, and maybe you can tell me where the E screw is. Maybe with both of us working, we'll finish before midnight."_

 _They don't._

 _At 11:59, according to the digital watch his parents got him last Christmas so he could time his laps, there are still two more pieces to go._

" _Here, Dad." Derek fishes for the screw marked G. "I think this goes – "_

 _He stops talking. His father has held his hand up, motioning for him to be quiet._

" _What is it?" Derek whispers after a moment._

" _Listen to that," his father says quietly._

 _Derek is quiet too, listening. He doesn't hear anything except the ticking of the old clock, and the rustling of the paper directions. And breathing, him and his father. That's all._

 _He glances questioningly at his father._

" _What is it?" he asks again, confused._

" _It's Christmas," his father says, smiling broadly. He points to the clock and Derek looks up – his father is right. It's midnight, and that means it's Christmas._

 _Derek listens, but he doesn't hear anything. Everything is just … the same._

 _They're still sitting on the office floor trying to find the little screws that have slipped into the shag rug, trying to finish Amy's playset._

 _Just like they were at 11:59._

 _He glances at his father. His eyes are closed – not like he's sleeping. Like he's listening._

 _So Derek closes his eyes too, just for a minute, and when he does he's almost certain he can smell the pine of the Christmas tree they all cut down together at Forager's Field, and feel the brush of new snowflakes, and taste his mother's candy-cane shaped cookies._

 _When he opens his eyes, everything is the same – nothing has changed, except everything is different._

 _His father's eyes are open too. When he sees Derek looking at him, he smiles._

" _Merry Christmas, son."_

" _Merry Christmas, Dad."_

 _His father picks up the directions. "Now. You said put the G screw in first?"_

" _Right." Derek picks up the wrench and hands it over._

..

Derek glances at his daughter's hopeful little face, and then at his watch. 11:52.

Eight minutes until the clock turns and the date switches over. Eight precious minutes they'll never have again.

This Christmas.

His daughter.

"Of course, Zozo, you can wait up until Christmas." He settles back in the battered old armchair and Zola climbs into his lap, snuggling sleepily against him. She lowers her voice when he presses a finger to his lips and indicates the sleeping figures across the small room of Meredith and Bailey.

"You'll wait up with me?" Zola whispers.

"I'll wait up with you," he assures her.

"I don't wanna miss when Christmas happens," she murmurs into his pajama top.

"I won't let you," he says.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

 _To be continued. Next chapter: Christmas Day. Ready to read it? Is it possible there could be two miracles in the Shepherd family's future? Please review and let me know! I love hearing what you think, and it motivates me to keep going! Merry June Christmas to all, and to all a good Monday. :)_

 _PS to the person who left Zola's Father's Day wishes for Derek, you melted my heart. I'm so glad Derek is alive in this universe._


	15. Christmas Day

**A/N:** _Thanks for all the reviews on this story. I've loved this little slice of summertime Christmas and I'm excited to share this chapter with you. I hope you enjoy!  
PS Mad props to SBWomenofMarvel, my tireless proofer, who this time not only caught a scene marker that should have been deleted but some lines from a discarded sub-plot. Merry Christmas!_

* * *

 ** _Unto Certain Shepherds_  
Chapter 15: Christmas Day  
**...

* * *

"Merry Christmas again, Mommy!"

Meredith has no time to process the _again_ ; as soon as she opens her eyes she's wide awake. It's hard not to be awake when she's greeted with a pair of enthusiastic dark eyes, a beaming face, and a sweet good morning kiss.

"Merry Christmas, Zozo." Meredith pulls her daughter down for a quick snuggle. Next to her, Derek is waking up too, propping up on his elbows for an excited hug from Zola.

"It's Christmas," she breathes. "It's Christmas and it _snowed_!"

"Again?" Derek asks with dismay, thinking how difficult it will be to fly out. "Again!" he repeats with enthusiasm when Meredith elbows him.

"Yeah, more snow," Zola says happily. "And it's Christmas morning and I feel good," she says, apparently not immune to recollection of the Christmases she spent sick. "And Bailey's up too and he wants to get out of his cage," she adds.

"His pack 'n' play," Meredith corrects hastily, just in case Zola starts calling their son's padded, comfortable … cage … just that at school or day care.

"That's what I said." Zola smiles with satisfaction when Meredith sidles around her to rescue their confined son and bring him into their sleep-warmed bed.

Zola starts to speak, then pauses. Her eyes are wide. She casts a glance at her brother and apparently remembers, despite how angelic he might look now cuddled into Meredith with rosy cheeks and a sleepy half-smile, the way he reacted when their grandmother brought them to see Santa.

"Do you think _S-word_ came?" she asks finally. "Did he come down the chimney and bring us presents?"

Her parents exchange a glance.

"There's only one way to find out," Derek says.

…

It's been ten years since Derek even set foot in this house and far longer than that since he ran down these stairs on Christmas morning. But it all comes right back as the four of them, still clad in flannel Christmas pajamas, follow a run-skipping Zola toward the large tree in the living room.

She skids to a stop, nearly causing a Shepherd pileup.

" _Look_ ," she breathes, pointing at the tree.

They look.

They look through Zola's wide eyes, and it's magical: there are piles of presents wrapped in red and green and silver, and the stockings that have hung flat from the mantel since their arrival are now bulging. It smells heavenly, of the cinnamon buns Derek supposes his mother must still be making on Christmas morning, and a combination of coffee and hot chocolate.

"Look!" Zola shouts again, bypassing the presents for the low table where she and her cousins left snacks for Santa and their reindeer. "Mommy, Daddy, look! The reindeer were here! They left _bite marks_!" She waves one of the gnawed carrots in her brother's direction and Bailey, no stranger to teethmarks himself and always susceptible to his sister's enthusiasm, claps his hands gleefully.

"And San – I mean S-word – ate his cookies! But he left some," Zola clarifies. "Look!"

Meredith and Derek admire the mostly-eaten cookies with appropriate surprise and excitement while Bailey snatches one of the half-moon shaped chocolate chip cookies and leaves his own bite mark – so quickly that his parents don't have time to stop him.

"It's Christmas," Derek says ruefully, as Meredith scoops up their small cookie thief. Bailey sticks the other half of his chewed cookie into his mother's mouth.

"It's Christmas," Meredith agrees, as she finishes S-word's leftovers.

Derek's nieces and nephews spill out of the kitchen to exclaim with Zola and Bailey, teenagers all year round but children now with their newest cousins. Their enthusiasm is catching and both Zola and Bailey are swept up in it.

...

"Daddy?" Zola approaches during a brief solo moment, a little sticky bun icing on one of her cheeks. He brushes the smudge away as she stands in front of the couch and nods encouragingly.

"S-word – " she confirms her brother is not in earshot. "I mean, _Santa_ was here, 'cause he left the bootprints and ate the cookies. Right?"

"What do you think?" Derek asks gently.

"I think he didn't bring the present I asked for," Zola says.

Ah.

"You haven't opened your presents yet," he reminds her.

"Yeah, I know, but I can still kind of tell it's not there."

"Oh." He lifts her onto his lap and studies the piles of presents. "How can you tell that? Is it something big?"

"Kind of." She leans against him. "But it's for me _and_ Bailey."

"That's nice that you asked for something for both of you."

"You think he could still bring it?" Zola asks hopefully.

All his concerns about misleading his child hang in the air. But so do Zola's sweet words, and her trusting little face.

"I don't know, Zozo. Santa might be done with this year's rounds, but there's always next year."

"Yeah." She fidgets with the ends of her Christmas-printed sleeves. "Daddy?" she asks again.

He nods.

"Do grownups believe in Santa? Or just little kids?"

He's amazed all over again by how observant she can be.

"Well," Derek says slowly. He points toward the fireplace where a slightly chipped ceramic Santa Claus he remembers from his own childhood sits to welcome the season. "Grandma isn't a little kid, is she?"

Slowly, Zola shakes her head. "No, she's even older than you and Mommy."

Derek swallows the smile that threatens to curve his lips. "Well, Grandma put that Santa up on the mantel. And Grandma helped to bake the cookies you left out for Santa, right?"

"And she gave us carrots for the reindeer," Zola says. "And helped us write the note for Rudolph that says we _like_ his red nose."

Now Derek can't help a smile. That was a tradition started by his oldest nieces and nephews sufficient years ago that he can still recall it – a tradition which, he's fairly certain, has its origins in his niece Samantha's chronic allergies – and resulting perennially red nose.

"Right," Derek says. "Grandma did all of that."

"Yeah, but…" Zola hesitates, fidgeting with the fringes on the corner of the ever-present afghan draped on the couch.

"What is it, Zozo?" Derek waits for her to look at him. When she does, her dark eyes – framed with impossibly long eyelashes – look troubled.

"Sometimes grownups pretend stuff," Zola says thoughtfully. "Like, for kids. Stuff that isn't actually true."

He nods, waiting for her to continue.

"Like yesterday, Grandma acted like Bailey's finger paintings were _really_ good," Zola says tentatively. Then, apparently worrying she's being disloyal to her brother, she adds: "I mean, they were good, but … Grandma said they were _amazing._ "

"And you don't think she believes that?"

Zola seems to be considering this. Her little shoulders rise in a shrug.

Even with the fire going, it's a little chilly. Derek reaches for the afghan and wraps it around them both. "You are growing up so fast," he tells her as she snuggles close. "You notice so many things around you. And you think about them a lot."

Zola nods against him. He inhales the sweet scent of her hair, the lavender oil she dabs on in the mornings.

"Maybe Grandma thinks Bailey's finger paintings _are_ amazing," Derek says slowly, "because she remembers when Bailey was just a tiny baby who didn't do anything except cry."

Zola seems to be thinking about this.

"So the fact that he can walk and talk and paint anything at all … is pretty amazing."

"Do _you_ think it's amazing?" she asks.

Derek nods. "I do. And I think it's amazing that my baby girl walks and talks too – and reads, and writes, and goes to school – and wants a car …"

Zola grins at his reference to her request. "And then you can teach me to drive," she says.

"I plan to." Derek kisses the top of her head. "But not for a few years. And when I do, guess what?"

"What?"

"I'll think it's _amazing_ that you can drive."

Zola leans back against him and is quiet for a few minutes, seemingly satisfied. "I'm gonna go see if Sam needs my help with breakfast," she says, and Derek has to hide another smile, touched that his nieces are apparently carrying on the tradition of letting the younger children think they're helping instead of, well … being adorable nuisances.

"You go do that." Derek kisses her forehead and watches her climb down from his lap.

And sees her cast one more glance beneath the tree as if to check whether the mystery gift she requested from Santa has turned up after all.

...

"Something big," Meredith repeats to him quietly as they find a spot in the crowded, noisy Shepherd living room. "And it's for her and Bailey to share?"

"Right."

"It's a car. I knew it." Meredith takes a sip of coffee and makes a face.

Derek laughs. "Zola told me last month she understood she had to wait until she was older to drive a car."

Their daughter is sitting in a circle of cousins and sipping cocoa from a two-handled mug – of course his mother has stock in those. She doesn't look up at her name, so engrossed is she in whatever they're discussing. Meredith keeps her voice down just to be sure.

"To drive a car, sure," she clarifies. "But to _have_ a car …."

"True." Derek gestures at her coffee. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know. It tastes … off."

"Off," Derek says. "You're not turning into a coffee snob, are you?"

"Derek, half my blood at this point is burned, watered-down coffee from the hospital and it tastes like freakin' manna from heaven most of the time."

"So not a coffee snob, then."

"Definitely not a coffee snob." She presses the mug into his hand. "You drink it so your mother doesn't feel bad, okay?"

Derek glances at his mother, who is settled in her large worn easy chair with Bailey on her lap, sharing a cinnamon bun. Both of them look like they'll need a scrubbing after this.

And both of them look purely, completely happy.

As Derek sips his wife's discarded coffee – which tastes fine to him – he thinks Meredith has absorbed the rhythms of Shepherd life, including his mother's intense desire to feed those around her, pretty darn well for someone on her first visit.

...

"Stockings first!"

Once breakfast has been cleared away, and the last traces of sticky buns washed from dozens of Shepherd fingers - the cry goes up from all the cousins.

It's one Derek remembers well from his many Christmases in this house, and he can't help but smile watching Zola and Bailey clamor at the fireplace for their stockings. Zola is helping Bailey with his when cousins intercede to lift the bulk down from the mantel.

Derek's mother hasn't missed this. "She watches out for him," Carolyn says softly, "doesn't she?"

Derek and Meredith both nod.

Carolyn's face is soft with reminiscence. "Your father was like that, you know. Always had an eye out to see if someone was missing out on something, if he could help. I think she takes after him."

At Meredith's expression, she raises an eyebrow. "You may be a doctor, young lady," she says, "but I know there are more ways to take after someone than looks." She casts a fond smile in Zola's direction. "More important ways, too."

Derek watches his mother walk toward the mantel to supervise the stocking distribution.

"Did you just get your first Shepherd scolding?" he teases, leaning in to kiss his wife's cheek.

"Scolding?" Meredith shakes her head. "She said Zola's like your dad. She called me _young._ If that's a scolding, then I can't wait to see what she does when she's happy."

…

"Truck!" Bailey shouts with joy as he pulls a soft rubbery one from his stocking. Bailey started out poking with interest at the stocking and doing little else. Once he watched his sister and realized the stocking was filled with presents, his hand-eye coordination suddenly increased tenfold.

"Truck!" he shouts again happily, showing the new present to his parents.

"When do you think he's going to master the _tr_ sound?" Meredith whispers to Derek.

"I don't know," he whispers back, "but I'd settle for less than mastery if he just realizes it's not the same as the _f_ sound."

"Grandma, truck," Bailey babbles happily. " _Look_ , Grandma. My truck."

"Yes, it certainly is," Carolyn says warmly. "You enjoy it." She turns to look at Meredith and Derek. "Don't you laugh at him," she says, her voice stern, "not when _my_ son used to pronounce it the same way."

"I did not," Derek says indignantly. "Did I?"

"You did, and it was a lot of work keeping the big girls from laughing at it too," Carolyn says, smiling. "I was always worried you'd shout it out in church, so if I saw a truck heading down the street when we were going in to services, I'd distract you in case Father Patrick was listening."

Meredith is finding the instruction not to laugh increasingly difficult.

She focuses instead of the excitement generated by the stockings, the laughter and teasing of the cousins. They've accepted Zola so naturally into their ranks that for a moment she thinks she might cry instead of laughing.

Apparently Christmas messes with your moods.

Another thing she didn't know, but then, Christmas is still a little new to her.

…

The rest of the morning progresses with a seamless combination of festivity and calm. There are carols on the scratchy old record player, presents opened, jokes exchanged. Zola shrieks with delight when she unwraps her scooter – making both Meredith and Derek happy for the present exchange they decided on the previous night.

Bailey is delighted, too – with the wrapping.

"Mine," he sighs happily, tearing a handful of red and silver paper and ignoring the large f – er, _truck_ , inside.

He brings some wrapping paper to his cousins, sharing generously. "See?" he asks, dropping a fistful of green-striped paper on Joseph's lap. " _Share_ ," he adds.

"Thanks, Bailey," Joseph says with a big smile and Bailey rewards him with one of his own, settling down cross-legged next to his older cousin and then offering – and receiving – a warm hug.

"Want to play?" Joseph asks, showing Bailey the game he's just opened. It's a magnetic board with some type of baseball arrangement on it and large, easy to manipulate pieces.

"For car rides," Nancy murmurs to Derek, settling down next to him.

Bailey is overjoyed to be included, and Derek notes how patient Joseph is with the little boy as he tries to explain the game.

"It's nice seeing them together, isn't it?" Nancy asks quietly. "My youngest, and your youngest … for now."

"For now?" Derek frowns. "Nance, do you know something I don't?"

"Of course not, Derek, but you're a Shepherd. You're not going to stop with two, are you?"

The famous Shepherd fertility. Derek is accustomed to covering his ears when the topic arises.

"I'm not the only one in this equation, you know."

"Oh, I know. But for all we know, it comes from Dad's side."

"One step at a time, Nancy. It's our first trip here in ten years."

"Don't I know it." Nancy recrosses her legs. "But you're not going to wait another ten years to come back again, are you?"

Derek watches as Zola delightedly shows her older cousins the felt board playset she's just opened, and they respond with floods of enthusiasm. Near the tree, Joseph and Bailey are still engaged in the magnetic car game. Joseph punctuates each of Bailey's attempts to move the ball into the zone with _good job!_

"No, I don't think that's going to be possible," he says quietly, and Nancy's wide smile in response makes him feel for the first time that he's managed to pull off his Secret Shepherd duties.

…

It took days to get to Christmas, multiple states and flights and misadventures, and now time stretches out into peppermint scented hours of laughter and gentle ribbing, games for the children and reminiscences for the adults.

"I can't believe this is our last Christmas in this house," Kathleen says with a sigh. Mason wraps an arm around her shoulders.

"We'll still be together," Nancy says, her voice a little uncertain. "You'll come to mine next year. Or Kate's. Right?"

" _Kate_ ," Kathleen says, furrowing her brow. "Nancy – you're my Secret Shepherd!"

"Show-off," Nancy mutters. To Meredith she says: "Kathy's a shrink, so she hasn't missed a Secret Shepherd yet."

"And now I'm Kathy again." Kathleen sighs. "I should have pretended not to know for a little longer."

"There's nothing wrong with the name Kathy," Derek's mother intercedes. "You know, my mother was Elizabeth Kathleen."

"But everyone called her Kate," Nancy points out innocently, and then pretends to hide behind Randall when Carolyn raises her eyebrows.

Meredith sees Amy stifling laughter and then her mother-in-law turns to her.

"Meredith, you'll have to forgive my children. They like to regress on Christmas."

"Who doesn't?" Liz asks good-naturedly.

"Mom." Kathleen leans forward. "Are you – feeling okay about the house?"

"I'm feeling a lot of things," Carolyn says. "I'm feeling nostalgic and I'm feeling happy that all my children are here and I'm feeling ecstatic that all my grandchildren are here."

"Ecstatic," Nancy murmurs. "Her children only make her happy, but her _grandchildren…_ "

This time, Derek holds up a pillow in front of Nancy to block their mother's reproving gaze.

"Thank you, Derek." Nancy turns to him, then pauses. "Since when do you keep me from getting in trouble?" she asks. "You used to love – " She stops talking. "You're my Secret Shepherd, aren't you."

"No," Derek says.

"And you're a terrible liar."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Nancy tosses a throw pillow from the couch at him and he tosses it back before Randall intercepts it.

Carolyn is shaking her head, looking like it's a struggle to keep from laughing. "Doctors," she says, "doctors in their forties." She pauses. "Well. We don't have to dwell on age."

"I should think not." Nancy smooths down her short hair. "Mom, you were saying?"

"I was _saying_ that this has been a wonderful Christmas and I'll miss all the memories we've made in this house but I'll treasure them even more. You know I still have every picture we've taken on Christmas morning, ever since Dad got the camera."

Derek smiles at this.

"And my new place might be a bit smaller – and a lot easier to manage – but there's still plenty of room to store my memories." She smiles at the assembled Shepherds. "And not all traditions have to change. We'll still leave carrots out for the reindeer, wherever we celebrate. We'll still have Secret Shepherd. And we'll still go to Nony's House every Christmas Eve, won't we?"

Mason and Randall exchange a look similar to one Meredith and Derek currently exchange.

"Children?" Carolyn looks from one of them to the other. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

…

The Shepherd living room has turned into two separate zones: on one side, the grandchildren are enjoying a long and lazy Christmas morning-turned-afternoon, occasionally moving to the family room or darting in and out of the kitchen for snacks. Bailey has fallen asleep on top of a stuffed dinosaur and Zola is keeping a sisterly eye on him when she's not falling down laughing from the children's version of charades someone left under the tree for her.

On the other side … things are a little different.

"How can this be?" Carolyn asks, shaking her head. There are tears in her eyes. "Those children … they can't be split up. They're a family."

"I know." Mason looks at Randall. "We brainstormed last night and Mary and the team have been working on this night and day. There just aren't any living spaces they can have on such short notice that would accommodate them all _and_ suit the regs."

"How soon?" Carolyn asks.

Randall clears his throat. "It's possible it will be temporary," he says. "We're going to help them raise money, look for somewhere else – maybe they'll have to build, and that can take a while."

"They don't have a while, though." Carolyn shakes her head. "I wish I could just give them this house."

"You're using the sale of this house to buy the condo, Mom," Nancy points out gently. "And if you tried to stop the sale – you'd lose enough that you wouldn't have the condo _or_ the house."

"I know." Carolyn sighs, leaning back in her chair. "But I just wish there were something I could do."

The phone rings then, everyone glancing over at it in surprise.

"Probably a recording," Kathleen shakes her head. "You can ignore it."

Their mother never ignores phone calls; Derek isn't surprised when she walks to the cradle. "Don't worry, I have a whole – setup that Mason put together," she says.

"It's caller ID," Nancy whispers to Meredith, "but we love that she gives Mason the credit. He does have a buddy at the phone company …."

Carolyn has lifted the portable receiver from its cradle. "Six-eight-two exchange," she reads. "Where on earth is that?"

Shrugging a little before any of the children can respond, she presses the button to start the call. "Merry Christmas!" she says in lieu of hello. "Yes, this is Carolyn Shepherd." Her eyes start growing wider as the call continues.

"Who is it?" Nancy whispers.

Their mother gestures for her to be quiet, but the siblings start gathering as the call continues.

"Mom? Who is that?" Kathleen asks, seeming unable to resist despite their mother's concentration and resulting frown.

Finally Carolyn puts her hand over the receiver. "Can't you children behave when I'm on the telephone?"

"Just tell us who it is," Amy pleads.

"It's a Christmas miracle," Carolyn says. "That's who it is."

…

"Let me get this straight," Mason says when Carolyn is finally off the phone. "Not only are the Johnsons _not_ moving to Connecticut, and canceling the sale of the house – but they're paying you for it?"

"Their lawyer was very generous," Carolyn says faintly. "For our troubles. And I wouldn't accept it, except …."

Kathleen peers over her mother's shoulder at the notepad where she was apparently jotting down figures. "Je – Jeepers," she corrects herself quickly at their mother's glare. "Mom, that's more than the price of the condo."

"I know."

"But – why aren't they moving here?" Nancy asks. "Did they say?"

"Apparently Mr. Johnson got an offer he couldn't refuse," Carolyn says. "Or another one, anyway. It's an even higher position, but it's starting a month later and in San Diego, so I suppose they won't be using all those winter clothes."

The Shepherd siblings and in-laws are exchanging nervous glances, hardly daring to believe what's happening.

"So that's it? It's really yours, still?"

"They're sending the paperwork. On the computer," Carolyn says. "And – they said they were going to pay the movers anyway, so I suppose we'll have some strong men on hand without much to do."

"Mom," Nancy says, her eyes glittering, "do you really think – "

"I really think we should give Mary a call," Carolyn says. She picks up the portable phone. "Now, I know it's Christmas, but do you suppose they have CallerID at Nony's House?"

…

The living room feels very different after that call.

There are cheers and shouts, hugs and exclamations.

It's festive enough that Liz whips up her famous eggnog – adults only eggnog, that is, and Derek notices she has quite a liberal hand with the _adults-only_ part.

Not that he can blame her.

He takes a few sips – but only a few, lest he fall asleep on a dinosaur like his son.

"Now, put down your mugs so we can take the picture," Carolyn instructs, starting to usher children and grandchildren alike toward the mantel.

Randall and Mason are setting up the tripod. Derek notices with a combination of chagrin and appreciation that his brothers-in-law must have been filling in all these years. In Derek's absence, the family hasn't lacked for men to help with the void his father left, and he's grateful for it. Plus, they make it look easy –

"That's a bad word, Dad," Joseph points out cheerfully.

"You're right, son," Randall says. "I meant to say oh, _shirt_ when the tripod leg closed on my hand."

Joseph nods with satisfaction while Nancy attempts to help Randall with his minor injury.

"Okay, this might be a while," Amy says, "in my experience, anyway. What?" she asks when Kathleen nudges her.

"They'll get it," Liz says serenely. "They get it to work every year, don't they? Haven't missed one yet."

"True," Kathleen says. "But since it might take a while, I think I need more of Lizzie's famous eggnog. Can I get anyone else a mug?"

"Me," pipes up one of the not-quite-legal nieces and everyone laughs.

"Anyone _else_ ," Kathleen says. "Meredith, have you tried it? It's a little strong, but you've never sat through one of these tripod fiascos, so you might want to be knocked out a bit."

Meredith smiles. "It looks great," she says, "but truthfully, I'm still pretty full from breakfast. And dinner," she admits.

Liz laughs. "Mom's cooking will do that." Liz and his mother exchange a look Derek doesn't quite understand as Nancy rejoins the group.

"They said I wasn't helping," she huffs.

"We appreciate it, though," Randall calls from where he's squatting under the tripod, and Nancy looks slightly mollified.

Carolyn is looking at Meredith. "Are you feeling all right, dear?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Meredith says quickly. "Just … eating more than usual here, I think. Everything's been so delicious."

"Except the coffee." Carolyn smiles at her. "No, don't feel bad, dear, I just noticed. Years of practice when my children used to feed their broccoli to the dog."

"They used to feed it to me," Amy says, "and tell me it was candy."

"That too." Kathleen smiles at their youngest sister. "But think of all the vitamins you got that we missed out on."

"And yet you're all three feet taller than I am," Amy grumbles, but she can't seem to stop smiling.

"Well." Carolyn pats Meredith's shoulder. "Everyone eats a bit more than usual on Christmas. And you can certainly afford it."

"Usually I would agree," Meredith says, smiling ruefully, "but your cooking may have pushed me over the edge. This morning, I noticed my …"

She pauses.

Now Carolyn is the one smiling again.

Broadly.

Derek glances from his mother to his wife. They're all still lined up by the mantel, awaiting the annual Christmas picture. "What am I missing?" he asks, confused.

"Oh, nothing," Carolyn says. She surprises him by giving Meredith a hug. And Meredith surprises him by accepting it without even the tiniest of flinches.

"Mer?" Derek turns to her as his mother releases her. "What's going on?"

"Oh, just one more Christmas miracle," she says, leaning against him.

He wraps his arm around her, puzzled but game; she moves his hand just slightly …

"No," he says, feeling a smile that threatens to split his face. His hug lifts her off her feet. " _Really_? How long have you known?"

"Um … about forty-five seconds," Meredith says, laughing a little. "I mean, I haven't proven it yet or anything, but when your mother said what she said, I kind of …"

" … knew," Nancy fills in. "That's why we always called her the human sonogram."

"It's true." Liz is smiling at Meredith. "She always knows when someone is pregnant."

"Does she?" Amy asks innocently. "Or is it that it's always a pretty safe bet _someone_ is pregnant around here?"

"Really, Amy," but Carolyn is smiling. "We're so happy for you," she says, and Derek leans down so she can kiss his cheek.

Derek is still a little dazed, Christmas lights dancing in front of his eyes.

Meredith, pregnant.

Another baby.

"Your radar even works long distance," Meredith is saying. "I'm impressed."

"Is that why she wanted you to fly out here?" Amy asks, and Nancy swats her in response.

"Daddy!"

Zola is tugging on his hand, no longer occupied with her cousins. "Listen to that!"

"What is it, Zozo?"

"It's Santa," she says. "It's Santa Claus and his reindeer! Listen, footsteps! I mean hoofsteps! I hear it, they must be leaving!"

Derek and Meredith are frozen at the word _Santa_ , waiting for Bailey to start crying. To their surprise, their son just repeats the word happily, bouncing on his tiptoes. "Santa!" he cries again, clapping his hands.

Meredith scoops him up and Derek lifts Zola into his arms.

Their daughter points toward the ceiling again, beaming. "I think maybe he was really here!" she whispers, her face glowing.

Meredith smiles and leans over to kiss Zola's cheek. "You know … I think maybe I believe it," she says quietly, and then leans her head against Derek.

Zola wraps her arms around her father's neck. "I didn't get what I asked for, under the tree," she says, "so I thought maybe Santa wasn't here."

Derek kisses the top of her head. "I'm sorry you didn't get what you asked for."

"It's okay," Zola says, "I got a lot of really cool stuff and everything, and you know what? Actually, Connecticut Santa did say it was a tough one."

"He said what you asked for was a tough one?" Meredith repeats.

"Uh-huh." Zola nods, braids swinging. "He said he would do his best, but it might take a while."

"Zozo," Derek asks, glancing at his wife. "What did you ask Connecticut Santa to bring you?"

Zola smiles shyly. "Um … I asked him to bring us a baby sister," she admits.

Derek hears Meredith's inhale of surprise next to him and he wraps his free arm around her so the four of them are joined in one hug.

The four of them?

No – the five of them.

And as his little family of five stands together in the heart of the rest of his larger, extended family, he looks around at the house where he grew up.

The house that was going to be lost to them – but was found again, in a Christmas miracle, for the people who really need it.

This house has stood longer than Derek and it's still standing.

It's the same house where, years ago, he stopped believing.

Today, though? Today … it's where he starts again.

"We're ready!" Randall calls.

"Another Christmas miracle," Amy mutters, and she's shoved good-naturedly from both sides. Everyone jockeys for position, laughing and jostling.

"Look at the camera, sweetie," Meredith encourages Bailey, who is smiling at his older sister instead.

"We have fifteen seconds left," Mason said. "So make them count."

"Say cheese," Nancy instructs.

" _Truck!_ " Bailey shouts at the top of his voice.

The camera clicks, capturing the moment forever.

* * *

 _Christmas actually happened! I hope you liked the way the Christmas miracles wrapped up. Nice work to those of you who predicted some of these stocking surprises. Just one more chapter to go, and I think you might like that one too. Review and let me know what you thought - I love reviews like Liz loves spiking the eggnog._


	16. EPILOGUE: Five Christmases Later

_**A/N:** Thank you for reading this story and leaving lovely reviews and not minding a little Christmas in July. Thank you, MerDer2015, for the great prompt that inspired this story. It's bittersweet to end, but I've always been excited about this epilogue, and I hope you enjoy it._

* * *

 ** _Unto Certain Shepherds_  
Chapter 16: Five Christmases Later**

...

* * *

"Ten minutes, children!" Carolyn calls, raising her voice to be heard over the clear sound of Christmas carols on Nancy's state-of-the-art sound system.

"We're ready, Grandma!" Zola says, smiling widely at her grandmother with one of her siblings attached to each of her hands.

"Oh, you sweet girl." Carolyn cups Zola's face in her two hands. "I knew you'd be ready, Zola, I was calling for _my_ children. You know. The ones who always lag behind."

"Excuse me, Mother, but we can hear you," Nancy says, fastening one of her earrings as she walks down the stairs.

"You can hear me, dear, but are you ready? Are your shoes on?"

"No," Nancy admits, "but – "

"No buts," Carolyn says firmly. "Now. Coats? Hats?"

Derek tugs lightly on one of Zola's braids. She's still crack granddaughter, it seems, and it's not like he can't see why. "Nice work, Zozo," he says, and she salutes in response.

"Children!" Carolyn calls again.

"We're coming!" Kathleen descends the stairs with her husband, each of them carrying large sacks. "We've got the presents from …."

Her voice trails off as Derek makes a slashing gesture across his throat with one finger.

"Presents?" Ellis pipes up, her blue eyes wide. "Are they from Santa?"

At the word _Santa_ , multiple Shepherds look nervously at Bailey.

Bailey, who is halfway through the second grade and has a pretty decent baseball swing, shakes his head, his shaggy blond hair swinging. "I'm not afraid of him anymore," he says. "Seriously. That was a really long time ago. _Mom_ ," he complains.

"We know you're not, sweetie." Meredith strokes his hair. "And we hardly remember that Christmas, anyway."

Derek leans in close and keeps his voice down. "We hardly remember it?"

"Shush." She nudges her husband with her shoulder and he kisses her cheek.

"Are they?" Ellis repeats. "Are they from Santa?"

And with a record scratch … they're back at his daughter's impossible question. It's directed at her aunt, though. The one holding the giant sack of S-word presents.

"Um." Kathleen glances at Derek. "Are they from Santa. Well. Um, yes. In a manner of speaking."

"But how come you have them, Aunt Kate?" their youngest daughter asks, still staring at her aunt and uncle. "How come Santa doesn't have them in his sleigh?"

"Well," Mason says. "That's because … Derek?" he punts to his brother-in-law, who mouths _thanks._

"Daddy?" Ellis turns to look at him too, tilting her head with its blonde pigtails back to see his face. "How come Aunt Kate and Uncle Mason have Santa's presents?"

"Well, sweetie, it's because Aunt … Kate, apparently, and Uncle Mason are … um ….."

Derek glances at Meredith.

"Mommy?" Ellis asks, propping two small hands on her hips. She lowers her voice to a stage whisper. "Did they _steal_ them?" she asks, audible to everyone. Mason coughs a laugh into his palm, looking a little guilty when Derek glares at him.

"No, no, of course not," Meredith assures her daughter. "They would never steal."

"Then how come they have Santa's presents?"

Derek blinks.

Meredith stares.

Mason and Kathleen look like they'd like to disappear.

Crack Grandma has one eyebrow raised.

Bailey looks from his little sister to his big sister with interest, his blue eyes wide.

And Ellis just looks from one of them to the other, waiting.

Zola's the one who answers. "Hey, El … you know Mrs. Ryder, at school?"

Ellis nods. "The principal's assistant."

"Right. She's an assistant, 'cause the principal can't do all the work herself. Right?"

Slowly, Ellis nods.

"And sometimes Mrs. Ryder makes the announcements, 'cause the principal is busy. Or sick."

"Is Santa sick?" Ellis asks anxiously.

"No," Zola reassures her, patting her shoulder. "Santa's fine. He's just really busy. Really, really busy. So he has assistants."

"Santa has assistants?" Ellis is asking, gazing up at Zola with her trademark expression when she looks at her big sister: somewhere between adoration and slight dizziness.

"Uh-huh." Zola nods, her braids swinging. "That's how he does so much in just one night."

"Ohhhh." Ellis's blue eyes widen.

Their youngest looks from one of her parents to the other, then back to her preferred authority.

"Zozo," she says, "Santa _really_ has helpers?"

"I believe it," Zola says. She smiles at her little sister. "I believe a lot of things on Christmas."

Ellis beams, satisfied, and – noticing no one else is ready to go – runs off to play with Audrey, her cousin Cassie's daughter.

"Hey, Zozo." Derek waits for her to look at him. "Nice work … again."

She grins at him. "I learned from the best," she says, and jogs off with Bailey to find the rest of their cousins.

"Derek." Meredith rests her head against his shoulder. "I think you might have some dust in your eye."

"Quiet, you." He kisses her, which is pretty effective at cutting her off.

And has some other benefits, too.

"Hey. Lovebirds."

Derek opens his eyes to see his oldest sister, arms folded. "There's no time for Seven Minutes Under the Christmas Tree," she scolds. "We have to leave."

"We're ready," Meredith assures her sister-in-law. "The kids are …." She peers around the corner. Nancy's house is big, and spread out, forever yielding new hiding places and play spots. "They were here a minute ago," she says, and Liz can't seem to help laughing.

"Was Audrey with them?"

"Of course she was." Derek can't help smiling. His niece Cassie had the first Shepherd _great_ -grandchild just a few months before Ellis was born. They've been thick as thieves since they took their first steps. One blonde, one brunette, two very-definitely-Shepherds.

From two different generations.

"Hey, Liz," he says, keeping his tone innocent.

But Meredith seems to notice his expression. He can never get anything past her. "Don't," she scolds. "If you start teasing Liz and Kate about being grandmothers, they're just going to – "

"Great uncle," Kathleen interrupts, joining them. " _Great_ uncle, Derek, and I don't mean the kind of uncle that gives piggy-back rides and pulls quarters out of his ears, I mean the old kind. Very, very old."

"Yes, I figured that was what you meant," Derek says. When Meredith turns away he leans a little closer to his sister. " _Grandma_ ," he whispers.

"Derek!"

"Sorry, sorry. Last time."

"I guess I'm not your Secret Shepherd," Kathleen sniffs. "Anyway, don't you have some golf to play, or … kids to shoo off your lawn?"

But kids don't get shooed off lawns when the Shepherds are involved, and if they did – it certainly wouldn't be on Christmas.

"Children, please behave," Carolyn says.

No one has to ask which generation she's addressing.

Derek and his four sisters stand in a row, a little sheepish.

"Much better. Now," Carolyn turns a beaming smile on her assorted grandchildren and great-grandchildren. "Is everybody ready?"

Everybody's ready.

…

It's a short drive to Nony's House.

It's a different drive than it was Derek's first time, five years ago, because Nony's House is different now.

Different in some key ways – the foundation, for instance. It's sturdy, town-approved, not an oversaturated pond in sight.

But the _foundation_ , the actual foundation? Well, that's the same.

Even the wooden sign is the same, with its chipped letters, just hanging from a different porch this time:

NONY'S HOUSE

With one difference, courtesy of Joseph's friend Garrett, who discovered a knack for woodworking in his vocational classes.

Carved on the bottom of the sign, a little blurrily but still perfectly easy to make out, is a sheep.

 _It's still Nony's House,_ that was what they all said when they made the preparations to turn the old Shepherd family home into the new Nony's House. Mary cried when they told her, and when they insisted they keep the name – that the name was special – she agreed. _Just with a touch of Shepherd,_ she said, and they all laughed.

A touch of Shepherd … and then some.

It all started when a buddy of Mason's, a plumber, offered to retrofit two new bathrooms to bring the house up to code for more children, if they wanted them. And then it turned out Nancy's roommate, an interior designer now, was excited to redesign the upstairs bedrooms.

Nony's House has always been about friendship, that's what Nancy and Randall said then, and it's true.

And Derek may have missed the first ten years at Nony's House, but he was there the year Nony's House moved into the old Shepherd House.

And, like his siblings, he had friends who were willing to help.

Maybe not so much with the elbow grease.

But sometimes it's nice to have friends in high places … or at least friends with big trust funds.

He wasn't going to ask. But then he saw how much joy everyone seemed to be getting out of helping.

As it turned out … the joy was contagious.

First, Addison and Mark sent a check so big the accountant setting up the Nony's House Foundation thought it was a mistake.

It was more than enough to set up, in perpetuity, the support they would need. And then some. When he called to stammer out his thanks, they assured him it was their pleasure. Addison did have a condition, though, since the money was inherited from her mother.

The condition: the children would be allowed to make messes. Lots of messes.

That wasn't a problem.

 _That_ was how the Mess Room was born, one of the new Nony House's most loved spaces, and Derek watched his children spend visit after visit running delightedly to the dedicated space, full of marvelous sensory toys and child-friendly fingerpaints.

The Farm? Well, The Farm started as a gift from Preston Burke, of all people. Chickens. It started with chickens, complete with a heated year-round coop. They were a perfect addition to the house: good for learning responsibility, taking care of animals, and delicious fresh eggs. Why chickens, Derek asked when he called his old friend to thank him?

Apparently, Preston Burke he felt bad for all the chickens he used to practice stitches on when he was recovering from his gunshot wound.

Cristina, well, she's a different story. She supported them in theory, of course. But, as she explained to them, she still didn't like children. But when she found out about the teenagers at Nony's House, the ones aging into sheltered work – well, she was more than happy to donate time _and_ supplies to setting up a science room, complete with telescope and newly carved skylight so the Nony's House children can look at the stars.

Everyone, it seemed, had something to contribute, from Liz's neighbor who donated industrial kitchen equipment from her family's restaurant-servicing business to Amy's boyfriend – and no, they're not allowed to ask any more questions about him – who helped Mason and Mason's old carpenter friend Joseph build the incredible play structure in the backyard.

All that is to say … it's definitely not the house Derek grew up in.

But some things – well, some things stay the same.

There are a lot of rooms in Nony's House.

One of them, the one that's changed the least – is the study. It's only changed its capitalization; it's now The Study, officially, with a new crayoned sign at least once a week. The old roll-top desk where they found Derek's father's last Christmas list is still there, and his dad's old work chair too. They kept the shag rug, and the couch, and most importantly they kept the feel of the room. The Study is where the Nony's House children go for some quiet time, whether it's advice from a trusted adult or just a chance to sit in a calming room that still – Derek swears – retains the spirit of man who left it too soon.

"Daddy!" Ellis tugs on his hand, reminding him of the present instead of the past. "Can I ring the doorbell?"

They're the first to arrive, but the rest of the cars pull up behind them in no time at all, Shepherds bundled against the winter chill climbing the familiar staircase – now retrofitted with an ADA-approved ramp and non-skid coverings – and joining them on the porch.

There's no time to ring the bell; they're expected.

The door swings open instead.

"Merry Christmas!" Mary greets them with a big smile, just like always, children clamoring around her. Like always, the children are bright-eyed and smiling, happy to see visitors. Happy, period, in their sunny surroundings.

Inside, it smells of Christmas: pine needles and sugar cookies. Christmas carols are playing on a scratchy record player he remembers well from his youth.

He remembers this whole house. He was almost born here, the story his mother likes to tell and the Nony's House children find amusing. Not to mention his own children.

He stands in the entryway of the house where he grew up, and it's different.

There's a giant Christmas tree hung with homemade ornaments, a fireplace decorated with stockings – embroidered by his mother, of course, one for each member of the household.

It's warm and cozy, and children's laughter floats through the house.

There are different children here now.

And there will always be children here.

A girl who looks about ten brings him a gingerbread man, a little boy beaming at her side. "Welcome back," she says with a shy smile. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Becky. And you too, Kyle."

Ellis runs up to him, ignoring the cookies – to his shock – to greet the children. And then they're all running off together, Bailey busy with Chris, talking about baseball, and Zola engaged in a spirited discussion with Dylan about, from what he can tell, global warming.

"The children always have interesting things to say after that one leaves," Mary says, smiling, indicating Zola.

Interesting?

Zola?

The captain of the Shepherd Team, Little League Level, ultimate big sister, rarely found without his other favorite little trailing sheep behind her, hungry to follow her lead?

Interesting is one word.

Mature. Growing up so fast it scares him sometimes. Other times – he's so proud his heart feels two sizes too big for his chest.

Mary's eyes are soft as they both watch more of the Nony's House children cluster around his oldest daughter, a big sister to all, and she welcomes them into the fold. One of them brings a book, and Zola starts to read.

"Derek," Mary says, "I wonder if the onions we sliced earlier for the turkey are still potent. Your eyes seem to be watering a bit."

"I have allergies," Derek says with dignity, but he can't help smiling at Mary's expression.

She pats his arm fondly. "It's Christmas, dear," she says. "Don't ask … don't tell."

…

Nony's House is, as always, run for the children. For, and sometimes by. The children are occupied with each other, thrilled for extra playmates. Derek takes a moment to sip coffee in front of the mantel of his youth, here in the house's rebirth.

The mantel is the same stone as always, and there are still photographs hanging above it, framed.

They're a little different now.

Hanging on the wall above the mantel here, at Nony's House, are several pictures – pictures of the Nony's House children through the years, hanging candy canes on the Christmas tree, making popcorn in the kitchen, jumping in piles of leaves, swimming in the lake under the watchful eye of whichever lifeguard-trained Shepherd teenager was on duty that day.

And one more.

This one, he remembers.

It's a simple wooden frame. Inside it is a photograph of seven people.

Just an ordinary Christmas, a camera on a tripod, a moment like any other.

Except it was the last Christmas they were all together.

They had no idea, of course. They laughed and jostled each other and Nancy and Kathleen argued over who would stand where and Amy kicked him in the shins when no one was looking, because he wouldn't let her peek in her stocking to see if Santa had come yet. And his father did his best to get them in line, reminding them of the automatic countdown, to smile for the camera. _Say cheese,_ he said, but it's never that simple.

And so when the flash bulb went off … they weren't exactly ready.

The picture was developed and framed, just like all the others, though. It's hanging here in all its dated glory, the older girls with their long, ironed-straight hair parted in the middle, his father's wide lapels and the flared bottoms of everyone's pants.

There are flaws in the picture, lots of flaws. Amy is sticking her tongue out – whether at the camera or at Derek, he's not sure, since she's in half profile. Nancy is captured halfway through a hair flick, her hands blurred by the seventies low-speed shutter. Liz looks like she's whispering something to Kathleen, who's laughing the open-mouthed chuckle that shows her braces, the one she liked to avoid. His mother is turned just a little to his father, and he's turned to her too. They're smiling at each other.

Their last Christmas as a family of seven, captured forever and hanging on the wall of the house where it was taken, above the mantel where those seven Shepherds hung their stockings on the last Christmas that really _felt_ like Christmas.

The last one for a long time.

But if this house was where Christmas stopped feeling like Christmas, all those years ago, it's also the house where it started to feel like it again.

And it never feels like Christmas more than these traditional visits to Nony's House.

"Daddy?"

He looks down to see Ellis gazing up at him.

"What is it, sweetie?"

Ellis looks pensive, and he bends down to scoop her up so they can be eye to eye.

She reaches out to play with the collar of his shirt – narrower than the one his father wore in the Christmas picture, but still plenty of fabric for her busy little fingers. "Is it true?" she asks, raising her blue eyes to meet his. "What Zola said?"

"What do you think?" he asks gently.

Ellis tilts her head a little, thinking, making her look just like her mother. "I think Zola knows everything," she says.

"Well, I guess that's your answer, then." He kisses the top of her head, and she smiles at him before pointing to the framed picture he's been studying.

"That's you, Daddy," she says, indicating his faded-photograph head with its messy dark curls. "You're so cute!" she adds, amusing him, since he's still quite a bit older than she is now.

He laughs. "Not as cute as you."

She seems to take this comment seriously. "Aunt Amy's little," she says, smiling at the photograph. "And Grandma looks so _pretty_!"

Derek laughs again. "How did you get so sweet? Christmas candy?"

"Yeah." Ellis grins at him. "Down," she says, wriggling like she's still a toddler and not a _very_ grown up four-and-change-year-old big girl.

He sets her down and watches her run off to play with the Nony's House children.

And he looks at the photograph again, at his father's youthful smiling face.

 _Dad, I think you'd like it here. I think you'd like what we did with the house._

"How'd it go?"

He jumps a little at the unexpected voice.

"Sorry," Meredith says, tucking her hand through his arm. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"You didn't." He kisses the side of her head. "How did what go?"

"Trying not to be three for three on traumatizing our children with Santa Claus."

"Oh, _that._ " He smiles down at her. "Well, I think we're in luck. Zola's such a good big sister that she's doing all the legwork on traumatizing Ellis."

"Very funny."

"You're smiling," he reminds her, "which would suggest that you _do_ think it's very funny. That, or you're just not a natural sarcastic."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. And … I am, by the way. A natural."

"I know it." He pauses for a longer kiss. "You taste like cider."

"There's a good reason for that."

"Is there an extra cup of good reason for me?"

Meredith takes his hand again. "Come to the kitchen," she says. "Becky and Lillian have done an incredible job, and Zola has Bailey and Ellis helping them too."

He can't resist that invitation.

But he does smile up at the picture one more time before he leaves, glad his father is still watching over the Christmas tree.

…

Christmas Eve is full of tradition, and there's only one left here at Nony's House.

The group photograph.

It's quite a bit bigger than the ones Derek remembers from his childhood, as a family of six, and then seven, and then six again. Larger even than the one they took five years ago, when he brought Zola and Bailey to meet their Connecticut family for the first time.

This picture is full to bursting at the seams with Christmas spirit: it's all the Shepherds and all the Shepherd in-laws, the three members of the next Shepherd generation, one of whom is currently shrieking with rage at having been unceremoniously removed from the womb the month before – after staying two weeks past his eviction date, no less.

But there's more.

There are the children of Nony's House – eight of them now, with all the new room in the house. The perfect number, that's what Mary says. And Mary and her team, beaming with pride at the happy faces they're raising.

Of course, everyone lines up neatly, smiles on cue, and the picture is perfect.

The End.

Wait …

Let's try that again.

It's chaos, sheer chaos, less a line than a human version of the big bang theory. Children are jumping up and down, clamoring at the stockings, a few are loudly singing _jingle bells_ while Peter, who has a shock of red hair and a contagious smile, begins reciting _The Night Before Christmas_ , making up most of his own words. Zola is trying to corral some of the smaller children and ends up on the floor with Shira, who is surprisingly strong. Ellis is playing a hand-clap game with Audrey and two of the Nony's House children, and Bailey and Kyle are apparently in a friendly competition to see who can make louder truck noises.

(One small mercy: Bailey hasn't pronounced _truck_ with an initial _f_ sound in almost five years.)

It's loud.

It's rowdy.

It's utterly disorganized, and the adults are no better than the children. They can't seem to help laughing, singing along, schmoozing, doing everything but focusing on the camera. Someone starts singing _Rudolph_ and, well, there's a whole series of gestures that go along with it, Zola acting as helpful conductor and multiple small children ringing around her with glee.

 _Click._

 _Flash._

They're not ready, but the camera goes off anyway, and Derek shouldn't be surprised.

That's how it works, isn't it? Life is what happens between _okay, one minute to go, everyone smile!_ and the click-whirr of an automatic shutter.

Life is messy and chaotic, it's two coasts and two careers, three children and an extended family that's bigger every day.

It's laughter and small sticky fingers that smell of peppermint and the freshly fallen snow outside.

It's loud. Life is Christmas-carol loud, more shrieks of laughter than posed smiles.

 _Click._

The camera goes off, capturing this Christmas. One of many.

No one is looking.

Everyone is smiling.

So the end result … well, the end result isn't flawless.

But it's definitely perfect.

 **The End  
** aka **Merry Christmas to All, and to All a Good Night!**

* * *

 _That's all she wrote! I had lots of fun writing this story. Thanks so much for reading it. (And now that it's wrapped up, I'm taking new prompts ... so fire away!)_


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